Basic Alchemy
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: Changing a handful of elements from one thing to another through miraculous scientific means; that is basic alchemy. But can the same principle apply to people as well? .:. Dave/Kurt, predicts for and occurs after 2x08. spoilers for 2x06 and 2x07. DONE!
1. Crumble

**A/N: Some of the best ideas for this pairing have already been done by masters beyond me, but this little diddy popped into my head after discovering some spoilers someone on DeviantART found, and upon reading two fanfics in particular that predicted some of the events of 2x08.**

**And so I give you my own version of such predictions, as well as an AU-after-that sort of multi-chap (dunno how many yet, but probably no where near ten) Kurtofsky/Karomel fic for the fans who know that the pairing will probably never happen in the canon but deserves to in the fanon. ;D**

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_Part I: Crumble_

_.K U R T._

Things had been going so smoothly. I honestly thought that they could last, the positive energy mingling with my every step and every breath, sticking around for a while.

Except nothing truly lasts, does it?

The weeks passed like a dream; I was a delicate feather of swan down, floating amidst a sea of liquid cotton and airy lavender cloud. I was surrounded by glamor and elated feelings, swimming in a whirlwind of busy bumble bees brushing their fuzzy bodies past me as I continued on, doing what I loved.

Carole had wanted me – _me!_ – above all others to assist her. She wanted nothing more than to have her stepson-to-be help her plan and choose decorations for her wedding. It was going to be relatively small, since the pair of them – Finn's mother, my father – don't make a whole lot of money for something uber extravagant. But Carole told me that she wanted it to be its absolute best, better than her first wedding. She came to me for all of my advice, expertise, and taste.

She said I made her so happy for all of my hard work. She took pictures upon pictures, claiming that every little thing I did was beyond her wildest expectations.

And all because I made sure of it. I didn't want to let her down, and aside from that, I was taking sheer joy in being part of something as lovely and joyous and romantic as marriage. And even further, I loved seeing the glittering effect of tears brimming my father's eyes, tears of sheer bliss that I never thought I'd see there, not after my first mother died.

So I did my best. I made their wedding positively fabulous. It was girly yet strong, like Carole and my dad. It made them hug and kiss me, even dragging poor Finn into the love-fest.

And we couldn't be more content.

Finn and I waved a hearty goodbye to our parents as they set off on a small honeymoon; once again, nothing too elaborate since they aren't rich, but it seemed nice enough; a little cruise around the Florida Keys, a hotel on the beach on the southern tip of said state, and all in the warm southern sun with the salty air of the ocean around them.

Except no one saw the events at school that followed their leave.

I was going home from Glee Club, Finn off to practice. I knew that I was going to be home alone for a while, but I didn't mind. I thought I could make some banana bread out of our too-ripe, forgotten bundle of bananas, and I thought it'd be nice to order some pizza when Finn got home. Maybe we could watch a movie, or if he had a date with Rachel, I could hook up my old PS2 and play Kingdom Hearts II for a while (I love that game; it's full of warm, fuzzy feelings and pretty boys and fun boss battles).

But no. It seemed I wasn't meant to have these plans that day.

Karofsky and Azimio made sure of that.

They showed up with one or two other football and hockey buddies each of them knew, making them an intimidating group of five. They backed me into a corner, caught between the dumpsters near the parking lot of the school and the rough brick of the building itself. I tried not to touch either, because the oozy gunk of the side of the dumpster and the coarse texture of the brick would both ruin my clothes.

My feet scuffed the pavement and I attempted to turn and bolt.

Azimio spoke first.

"And where d'ya think you're goin', faggot?" the African America snickered at me, and I glared right back.

"Home, of course," I recited with the utmost strength in my voice. I wasn't afraid of them, not anymore. They're cowards, all of them. They only come in a herd, fearful of my friends. I didn't care what they think they could do to me, because it wasn't like I didn't know how to fight back, call for help, or get them expelled. "So if you'll excuse me –"

"Not so fast," Karofsky interjected, his forearm jutting out just in time to bump my chest, ceasing my movement. He made a face at the contact, but in a second, it was gone. I didn't linger on its meaning.

I took a step back and clutched the strap of my bag as if it were a shield. "What do you want?" I said with a roll of my eyes. I lean on one foot, my other knee popping out to cross over. I placed a hand on my hip. "Going to toss me in?" I asked, wrapping a knuckle on the metal garbage container behind me.

"Not today," one of the other jocks said, cracking his knuckles. Disgusting. "Today, we have a special treat for you. How does a serving of scrambled fag brain served on cold blacktop sound to you?"

"Not very appetizing," I muttered in response. "But none of you have the guts to do that. You know the consequences."

"Only if we get caught," Azimio smirked, and there was something wicked in his eyes that made me shudder.

I swallowed, the blindingly hot-cold wash of unmodified fear lighting up within my core. Last time this happened, it had only been Azimio and Karofsky. Last time, I was within the school building, safely within earshot of plenty of people. Last time this came around, I was rescued by my knight in shining red shower curtain and my fellow gleeks. Karofsky and Azimio had backed off then, because even dumb jocks can count enough to know that the entire Glee Club against two was a fight they couldn't win.

'Last time,' however, was not this time.

"Stay back!" I barked, and the color drained from my face as the five took a menacing stride forward. "I have a mean kick, and you all know it! I'll shatter your balls and drop you to the ground before you can even lay a hand on me!"

And as true as I knew this to be, that didn't stop me from beginning to quake all over. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away.

Azimio lunged first. I shrieked as loudly as I was capable of, and dodged him. I tossed my bag to the earth and used my reflexes born of years of dancing to the beat to carry me through a woven space between massive bodies. I was nearly as tall as each of them, but nowhere near as muscular. They all outweighed me by dozens of pounds, and I knew when I was greatly outmatched.

A random jock grabbed me, and I swung my leg as far back and as sharply forward as I dared without dislocating it. The boy howled in pain and fell, squirming.

Azimio looked between his fallen comrade and I. He scowled. "You'll pay extra for that, fag!"

And I yelped and swerved out of the way, only to come crashing into Karofsky. I landed against his chest, my back to him. He caught me, his hands gripping my arms. I peered up into his face, pleading.

Last time, when Azimio asked Karofsky if he wanted to swing the first punch at me in my Gaga gear, Karofsky had paused. He hesitated. He hadn't said a thing. Finn showed up two seconds later, but I wondered every now and again what Karofsky would have said, if given the chance. Taking into account that kiss and that weird wink and then the death threat, I have no clue what he would have done. But even so, I pleaded with him now.

I looked up at him, my horror-stricken face conveying all I thought. _If that desperate kiss meant anything, if you care at all, prove it now. Please. For my life's sake…_

Azimio congratulated Karofsky on catching me, and even as I wriggled to break free, Karofsky held fast, even tangling his legs up with mine to limit my movement. I felt myself flush, and I still don't know why.

"Now hold 'im for me while we wail on 'im."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt Karofsky tense behind me, unsure. I didn't give time to see what he'd allow.

I lashed out, fists flailing, and somehow managed to shove Azimio and another jock away while simultaneously bashing Karofsky's nose with a backward toss of my head.

I started to run. My mind thought solely of fleeing, not even of getting my bag or getting to a person. Only running.

I got tackled. I forgot that, despite how quickly I run and despite the fact that our team loses quite often, we have Bieste as a coach now, and the boys have gotten better with their footballer skills.

I fell to the ground with a loud gasp, and the wind got knocked out of me. Some jock I didn't know had my legs from the knee down. I could feel aches and pains throbbing in scattered places; my left elbow, both kneecaps, my left hip, my right ribs. I gasped for air, and I felt a different jock run up to me and haul me to my feet with the assistance of the guy at my legs.

Azimio was suddenly in my face, and I felt his fist connect with my gut, my stomach folding in on itself. My head hung down from the impact, and he used this chance to uppercut me in the face, and I already felt a bruise forming around my eye.

A whimper escaped me, and suddenly Puck was there, followed by Finn, and they were fighting off some of the bullies, and I was dropped to the ground as the two boys holding me joined in the fight.

And that was when someone was cradling me, murmuring how sorry they were in my ear, telling me how they hadn't meant for it to go this far, didn't know it would be this bad, and thought it had just been another rouse to scare me. And the person was stroking my face and my jaw, and I could feel them shaking with what could have been sobs.

My face felt swollen. I wasn't getting enough oxygen. I passed out, crumbling to the ground.

xXx

_.D A V E._

I sit up in my room, completely at a loss. I can hear my parents arguing downstairs, my dad screaming at the social worker from school, and my mom trying to calm him down, but him pushing her efforts aside.

I sigh to myself. I should work on some of my homework, but what good is it if I wind up suspended or expelled? It doesn't matter that I ran when I got too nervous and found Puckerman and Hudson. It doesn't matter, because I had helped in the beginning.

I feel like a horrible coward, but big fat sham, a disgrace to everything I'm supposed to be in accordance with everybody else. I hide who I am every day; I act as though I'm dumb and don't know the meaning behind the things Hummel calls me. I act as though I'm the best damn jock there ever was. I act as though I enjoy taking my pain out on others. And worse of all, I act as though I'm straight.

I'm such a liar. It makes me sick. I hate myself more than I hate pleasing my friends, more than I hate/don't hate Hummel, and more than I hate my own father.

"FUCK!" I cuss loudly. I throw my pillow across the room, the satisfying _thwack_ of the flat fluffiness smacking into my drywall ringing throughout the room.

I retrieve the launched item and chuck it again, over and over, until my mom is suddenly bursting through my lockless door, asking what's wrong.

"H-honey? Are you okay?" she says timidly, her slightly overweight form slipping into my room. She's small compared to my meaty dad and myself, but compared to other women, she's chubby. But I love her anyway, and at the sight of her, I calm slightly.

"No, Mom, I'm not," I sigh, and plop down on my bed. What can I tell her? I've tried so many times to convince myself of my lies, to make them true; I've tried thinking like an idiot, I've tried having sex with girls, and I've tried even saying to Hummel's face that _he_ kissed _me_ and that I would kill him if he told anybody what happened, since I know that _I'd _be the dead one if anybody found out.

But I knew that none of it would work.

My mother is the only person who knows of my intelligence, and the only person who suspects my true sexuality. She's had time to adjust to the thought, unlike my father who turns a blind eye and constantly enforces that homosexuality is twisted and disturbing. But my mother has an idea, and she disagrees.

But that doesn't help me much.

"What's wrong? Do you want to talk about it? If it's about what's going on downstairs, about that fight –" she begins, but I wave a hand to cut her off.

"I just hate my life situation in general, Mom. The fight was a mistake, and as soon as I understood that, I tried to stop it. But I was too chicken to do it myself. And then I had to go and make Azimio angry at me, and get Puckerman and Hudson beat up, too, and I didn't even call the police because I was so scared. What's wrong with me, Ma? Why am I such a dick?"

"Shh, don't say that," she says softly, and lightly touches my forearm. "You're just hurt and confused. High school messes up a lot of people, if they fall into a bad crowd. You weren't always this way –"

"I pretty much _was_, and you know it. I just never acted that way around you. But I suck, Mom. I've hurt so many people, and now I'm tired of it and I want to change, but no one is going to accept me and I know it."

She stares at me, her mostly-green eyes tearing up. I can't handle it. I roll my eyes and release a short grunt while I stand from my bed.

"I'm going to for a walk to clear my head."

And while I'm down the stairs and out the door, my father starts yelling at me, too, and the social worker asks me not to go, but I can't fucking take it anymore. So I just leave, and I don't even have my cell with me or bother to say when I might be back.

_End Part I: Crumble._


	2. Separate

**A/N: In this chapter, when I mention Dave's grandma, I'd like to admit that I totally borrowed her name (Miriam) from the epic-awesome fanfic, 'Karofsky Takes It Back.'**

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_Part II: Separate_

_.K U R T._

I nurse my wounds with a cold pack made of some sort of gel in plastic held up to my eye. It stings, but it helps with the swelling. And I know that if I massage the ring around my eyes with enough lotion, the bruise will fade faster. Which helps, because I hate looking so ugly with that damn shiner there.

There are bruises on my stomach where I was punched, and one of my ribs is a little sore. I have bruises on my shins, too, from that tackle. And meanwhile, my stepbrother has a black eye and bloody lip of his own to match Puckerman's similar wounds.

I sigh where I lay on the couch, and Finn steps over and hands me his PSP. I stare at it, and then at him.

"I bought that Birth By Sleep or whatever game that you said was part of that Kingdom Heart series. I thought you could borrow my PSP for a while to play it if, you know, you want to. You won't have much else to do, since the school is giving you all this recovery time."

He looks a little embarrassed, but he's trying to comfort me, and I can't help but smile. The school thought it would be best if I took a break for a while, away from all of the bullies and tension and homophobia. Finn begged them not to call our parents, too; he and I both agreed that we didn't want to ruin their good time. It's too rare to break apart for something like this.

"Wow… thank you, Finn," I say softly, and take the device in my hands. I study it; the controls look almost exactly like my PS2 since they're by the same company, which means it should be easy to play. I grin broader, wincing slightly when my cheek makes my bruise ache, but then I quickly forget it as I turn the PSP on and find the game already in the compartment in back, the screen coming to life with the Square Enix logo. "This is so thoughtful of you!"

"I was just tired of seeing you stare off into space like you didn't know what to do with yourself, you know?" he says meekly, and sits down on the couch beside me. He watches me boot up the game and select a character to play as. I choose Terra, since I've heard through sources on the internet that the recommended order of gameplay for the best storyline is Terra, then Ventus, then Aqua. Terra amuses me most, anyhow; he's a tall, leanly built brunet with starling blue eyes and girlish lashes and a tough, emo voice. I smile as the first few scenes play, including a shirtless Ven; a cute little blond boy voiced by none other than the amazing Jesse McCartney.

Finn rolls his eyes jokingly and laughs at me. "No wonder you like this girly game," he teases, "There's anime-looking guys, lots of senseless killing of weird-looking monsters, and tons of angsty romance. You're pathetic," he says, but he's nudging me playfully and smiling.

I pause the game and laugh. "Yeah, well. It's one of the few video games I find acceptable. Most other things are full of first-person shooting – which is so difficult! You can't see yourself! – and way too much blood. Ew. No thanks, zombies and aliens. I'll take KH over Bioshock and Call of Duty and Halo any day."

He shrugs, still smiling, and leaves me to my new game (of which I am completely absorbed in suddenly; 'addiction' takes on a whole new meaning, now). I'm already to the first outside world as Terra when I yawn, realizing that while I spent half of the time leveling up in the Mirage Arena section of the game, I wasted the hours not even going through the storyline, and now I need to sleep.

I yawn again as I save at the first save-point I come to and set up the PSP to charge. It's late at night, now, and I'm exhausted. Yesterday took too much out of me, and staring at a screen for hours is not much better. So I drag myself to bed and curl up into a warm bundle, wondering vague things as my mind wanders off into Dream Land.

One of those vague thoughts, however, concerns the mysterious person who was there for me before I fainted. Finn and I haven't talked about the fight just yet, and I wonder if he even knows who else was there helping us. I shrug in my semi-sleep, and mutter something incoherently.

Whoever it had been, I would like to thank them. For a moment, I had felt safe again.

xXx

_.D A V E._

I wound up running away to my grandmother's house. She found me, shivering in the early evening darkness, bare except for the clothes on my back, and let me in.

Mam-maw Miriam is from the south, born and raised, until she moved to Lima, Ohio when she got married to my grandpa. She's a sweet little woman, and she has the most watery, pale green eyes I have ever seen. And she probably loves me best out of my family. I feel better when I'm with her.

"I'm assuming this isn't a courtesy visit," she murmurs as she pours herself some boiling water for tea, and makes me some instant coffee with the same batch of water. "Something wrong, isn't it, Davey?"

She's the only person who has ever called me that. I sigh and run my hand through my short hair, the thick would-be waves in front momentarily tangling up in my fingers. "Yeah. It's pretty bad, Mam-maw."

"Tell me all about it," she says as her arthritis-ridden hands place a zebra mug in front of me. I take a casual sip of it while she pats my hand with her cool fingers. "Does it involve school?"

I nod, another sip nearly burning my tongue.

"And probably that Hummel boy as well, am I right?"

I nod again. She's been my sole confidant when it comes to all of my stories about Kurt Hummel. She's even tried to smile and convince me that I need to face facts and admit that I like him, but I've always brushed it off. Despite coming from down south, my grandmother is pretty accepting of homosexuality. She grew up quite a bit in the 'free love' '60s and '70s period, back when she was twenty and young and first popping out children. To her, love is love despite gender, and God loves all His children, and makes them gay for a reason. If anyone, she's the only person who I can act like myself around.

"Oh, Davey. Don't tell me you've bullied him again! I keep tellin' you not to. You're behaving like an elementary school boy, picking on the person you have a crush on. It's not nice. It makes them dislike you, not like you!" she scolds lightly around a slurp of her tea. She shakes her head at me. "When will you learn?" she sighs, but there is a smile on her face.

Her smile fades as a tear slips down my cheek. How the fuck did I start crying? I wipe it away hastily and sniff, because I shouldn't be crying. That's weak and stupid. "It's not just that, Mam-maw. I… I'm really confused. I hurt him again, but then thought better of it and saved him, but I got into so much trouble, and my friends hate me for going soft, and now my dad is at home with some social worker from school, probably talking about what to do with me." I sigh. "Can I stay here for a while? I'm afraid to go home."

My grandmother understands immediately. She pounds a bony, winkled, pale fist on the table, startling me. "You're damn right you can stay with me! I'm just sorry you have to go through this, Davey! You don't think they know, do you? Your parents, I mean. About who you like."

"Mam-maw…" I grumble. "Please."

"No. You have to tell them, Davey! I won't sit back and let my grandbaby be pushed into being something he's not. You like boys, and I understand that, and I know your father can be a real pain when it comes to gays, but he needs to know. You're his son, and if he tries to kick you out, I'll knock some sense into him! That, or let you live with me. I'll get everything settled, don't you worry. I can help you, Davey-boy. Let old mam-maw show you how it's done."

I smile despite myself. I admire her strength, especially for someone over the age of sixty-five. "Thanks, Mam-maw. You always know what to say." And I sip my coffee again.

She grins, her dentures flashing a perfect set of pearly whites. "I love you, sweetie, and don't you forget it. And I'm going to set things right, since you've been wronged so many times. I knew it wasn't a good idea for your mother to raise you with that man as her husband! I warned her. I said, 'Baby, you're my daughter and I love you, but I swear to the Lord Jesus that if you raise a child with that man, your poor baby might have anger problems and be shoved into a lifestyle that isn't theirs.'" She stiffens, clicking her tongue. "I hate it when I'm right."

I laugh a little. Old people are kind of cute when they act tough. It contradicts so much with their frail frames. I touch her hand. "It's okay, Mam-maw. I've learned my lesson, I swear. And if you back me up, I think I might be able to fix things, too."

She nods her head around a slurp of tea. I can smell it, now; coconut chai, creamy and spiced. "All right, Davey. Then let's do it. Actions speak louder than words, you know."

That kiss in the locker room flashes in my mind for a moment, and I wince unnoticeably. "Y-yeah," I agree mildly, "They really do."

There is an extended, comfortable silence while the two of us finish up our drinks. Then my grandma stands and as she puts our mugs in the dishwasher, asks if she wants me to go with her to my house for my things to spend the night for the next few nights. I nod my head.

And so she hands me her keys (she's getting worse at driving and she knows it), we pile into her little white Camaro convertible, and drive toward my home. My nerves nibble at my insides the entire ride there.

_End Part II: Separate._


	3. Dissolve

_Part III: Dissolve_

_.K U R T._

When all of Terra's game is complete and I'm halfway through Ven's, Finn comes to me and tells me that Carole and Dad are on the phone. I smile and pause my game, setting it aside.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver, idly rubbing my finger on the smooth PSP screen.

"Kurt!" my dad says immediately, a laugh in his tone. "How've you been, son?"

I don't want to tell him about the fight, or Azimio getting expelled, and the other jocks suspended, and God-knows-what as punishment for Karofsky. So I smile and lie with forced tiredness added to my voice, "I've been pretty awesome. Finn bought that new Japanese game I wanted for me, and I've been playing it almost non-stop while I've been home from school. I'm sick." I even go as far to cough and wheeze, my acting skills coming in handy. "It must have been from all the people and excitement at the wedding. With that much germs going around, my poor immune system didn't stand a chance," I say, and my dramatic play-up of my lie makes Finn roll his eyes at me.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that you're sick, kiddo, but I'm glad that you're at least enjoying yourself. And your help with the wedding did wonders. Your planning for this honeymoon, too, seems to have taken some of the stress off poor Carole, and for once, she's truly enjoying herself."

I smile softly. "I'm so glad, Dad," I tell him. Too bad he'll have to find out about the fight when he returns. He'll be angry at us for keeping it from him, but I'd rather face the consequences then than have his honeymoon ruined. "Does Carole want to talk to me, too?"

"Oh, yeah! She does. Here, I'll get her. I love you, son. I'll see you again soon."

"Love ya, Dad," I reply, and I wait as I hear him find his new wife and hand the cell phone over to her.

And my stepmommy and I spend the better part of an hour chatting up a storm. We get along so well, and I really do like her. I'm so glad that she married my dad. They're sweet together.

"All right, Chatty, off the phone. I want to call Rachel, and I can't locate my cell," Finn says, cutting off mine and Carole's conversation by speaking into the other house phone.

"Oh! Sorry, Finn," his mother answers with a giggle. To me, she adds, "And goodbye, Kurt, dear. It was so nice talking with you. I'm just so bubbly; I feel so much younger. And I have you and your new brother to thank. Who knows if Burt and I would've met if not for our sons attending the same school and being such friends at Glee Club."

I don't have the heart to tell her that Finn and I didn't always get along. Instead, I say goodbye and make a kissing sound into the receiver before hanging up the phone. "It's all yours, Finn!" I shout, and immediately I hear him dialing his cell number to locate the little device. The music of his ringtone sounds throughout the household.

I ignore it and continue my game, completely melting at the sound of Vanitas's voice (_damn,_ Haley Joel Osment. You lost your cute little-kid-looks and turned a bit unattractive, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't completely in love with your dark!Sora voice. Mmm~).

While playing, I idly ask myself when it's okay to return to school. The principal was surprisingly understanding this time around. He said I couldn't miss more than two weeks, but that it was up to me to return earlier if I wanted. It's been about three days now, and honestly, I'm a little tired of sitting at home. I miss singing with everybody and Rachel is probably getting pissed at me for missing all of the preparations for sectionals.

And Blaine. I haven't talked to him outside of texting for a few days, and it's been boring without seeing him after school nearly every day. We have a date (well, not really a date; we're not together, we're only friends, so we were going to hang out) with him on Saturday, but I'm not sure if I should go. He knows all about the fight, naturally; I texted him about it and he immediately called me to chat, but I just hate the thought of meeting up with someone so adorably handsome while I have all these battle scars.

I sigh and slash away at some Unversed, the little monsters Finn referred to before. But I'm suddenly losing interest, and simply find a save-point and set the PSP aside.

I flop backward onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I reach for my iPod on the end table, selecting an artist and song at random. 'Goodbye Apathy' by One Republic plays into my ears, and I think again of that day, the day things fell apart and I was ganged up on.

It was almost pointless. What was the trigger? What was the reason why? I don't even know. Were they simply fed up with my flamboyancy? I can't wrap my mind around it. And Karofsky. He hasn't left my mind in so long, I almost forgot what it's like not to think about him.

I used to only think of him on occasion, and only because he was my main bully, my enemy, my hated rival. He and I butt heads worse than a pair of mountain rams. And yet… ever since that stupid kiss… I've been re-thinking everything concerning him.

He's a closet case. He must be. And he must be attracted to me, because why else would he kiss me? Unless it was because he thought I'd understand since I'm an out gay. But still, what infuriates me is that he thought it would change anything, when he clearly made sure that it wouldn't. So it couldn't be that. Yet this makes me wonder all the more what the _hell_ it was about! It's just a kiss, some might say, but dammit, it was my first kiss with a boy and I wanted it to be different than _that._

Pouting, I change the song. And I change it again. And again. I shuffle through half of my library, searching for a song that suits my mood better. But nothing seems to work, and I wind up getting frustrated. I rip the earbuds out of my ears and stuff my iPod away. Then I'm left in silence again, and distantly I realize that Finn called out to me earlier while I was thinking. He must have gone over to Rachel's or something.

Sighing, I glance at my clock. I could go to school again after this weekend. I could even go tomorrow. I partially want to; it'd be nice to get in the swing of things. Outside of playing Birth By Sleep, I'm bored around here. And even though I love that game now, there's only so much of it I can take at once.

I roll over onto my side. I think I'll skip school again tomorrow, and since it's Friday tomorrow, I'll just wait until Monday to return. All I need is a week of rest anyhow. And besides, I want to see if Karofsky will be at school. If he is, I'd like to have a word with him. He's the only person who I remember least during that fight, and because of that, he might be the sole bully left from it that I can talk to without visiting someone's home or juvie.

xXx

_.D A V E._

I was suspended for a week, but now that I'm back, I'm not sure what to expect. By now, the ambush (I refuse to think of it as something as just as a 'fight') has reached every wing of the school. Each student knows, each teacher knows, and as I pace down the halls, everybody stares at me with mixed emotions.

The expressions are clear: no one knows whether to hate me, be afraid of me, or thank me. I had been part of it in the beginning, they know, but they also know that I had helped make it come to an end. No one is sure what to think of my second-thought decision. Even _I'm _not sure. Why did I do it? My grandma teases it's because I couldn't stand to let the guy I like get hurt any longer. But I'd like to think it's because I'm finally turning my character around.

Either way, no one says much to me. They continue as they were, moseying on past without so much as a second glance. They must feel like they need to leave me to myself. And they're probably correct.

In French class, I nearly have a heart attack. My heart skips a beat and drops to my stomach when I see Hummel sitting in his desk, back at school the same day I am. He had been gone, too, I heard people say. He was permitted some recovery time for more than simply his physical pain.

I swallow hard and pretend not to see him as I make my way to my seat.

But Hummel is stubborn.

"Karofsky," he addresses me before the teacher starts class. "Can I talk to you during lunch?"

I try not to show how nervous that makes me. I force a snarl. "What the fuck ever, Hummel. It better be worth my time."

He looks defiant, certain, and… sexy. "Believe me," he assures stiffly, "It will be. It shouldn't take too long to begin with." And he turns back around, ready to pay attention to the teacher, whom starts rattling off strings of phrases in French. I catch every other word, not really paying attention.

Deep down, I'm terrified of what he has to say to me. And I'm even more terrified of how I'll react.

xXx

At lunch, Hummel doesn't hesitate or beat things around the bush. He simply gives me a tap on the shoulder and leads me to the empty auditorium. I give him kudos for the location; it's littered with supplies for their singing club's newest songs, but it's perfectly empty and soundproof. No one knows we're here, and we're free to talk about anything we need to without being overheard.

And while I appreciate the gesture of him trying to protect my evident uneasiness about being discovered, he seems to fail to realize that in such a secluded place, I could beat the shit out of him, or kiss him on accident again.

I know I won't do either, though.

"Okay," Hummel states firmly, his arms crossing over his chest. I'm surprised by how light his visible bruises are already. Knowing him, he was taking care of them this past week. "Why, Karofsky? I need to know. Why did last Monday happen the way it did?"

I flinch. I refuse to make eye contact with him. "The weekend was rough, man. You don't even know. Azimio was on edge, telling me some bullshit story I only half believe about how one of his football buddies got molested by his own uncle or something, and Azimio was furious, saying that all gays are the same and we need to teach them a lesson the only way we know how: by making an example of the one at our school." I glance at him quickly, and I can tell two things: he's surprised by me saying so much at once and so eloquently, and he's trying not to start yelling at me. I appreciate him holding back, too; it makes him look less desirable when he's calm. I like him too much when he's emotional, hence some of the bullying and that fucking kiss.

"And so he talked you and the others into it. I see," he says pensively, a hand up to his chin. Damn, I love his hands. They're so long-digited and pale and perfectly moisturized, unlike my rough, large hands. One of his fingers skim his bottom lip, and my eyes follow the action. He doesn't notice, and I don't even care if he does. So what, if I'm starting to think about how smooth and soft his lips are? I won't do anything this time, I swear.

Hummel turns on his heel and paces around the stage to retrieve his backpack. He gets out something, thinks twice about it, then returns the mysterious object. Then, suddenly, he's turning around and looking at where I stand awkwardly from afar.

"Karofsky," he says, "I was hit pretty hard, so I don't remember much. Finn was too absorbed in his own defenses to recall, but I'd like to know… what happened that day?"

I freeze in place. He really doesn't know? I'm a little glad, and for a minute, I debate with myself on what to tell him. Should I lie? Should I make him hate me further so that I don't have to deal with him? Because the more I puzzle it out, the more I realize that admitting to protecting him at the end of the ambush might make him see me differently. He might see me as an ally, as a hero, as a possible friend. And I don't know if I want that. I'm so messed up right now, living temporarily with my grandmother and avoiding my parents and trying to sort out my sexuality and –

"I'm waiting, Karofsky," he says with less coldness than I thought he should have. He tilts his head cutely to one side, his eyes scanning my face. "Or does your dumb jock head not know how to put past actions into words?"

I frown at that. If only he knew my actual thought process and how complicated it can be. I shake my head. "Don't test me, Hummel. I'm just trying to decide what's even important for you to know. It was a mess, all right? Five against one wasn't fair. I know that. And peer pressure is wrong, yadda yadda."

"I'm not looking for an apology, nor am I trying to lecture you," he counters smoothly. "I'm only trying to fill in the blanks. What happened?" he repeats. I finally cave in. I might as well tell him the truth, even if I have my doubts as to how much he'll believe.

"Work with me here," I say slowly, "Because what I'm gonna explain isn't gonna sound very true. But I swear on my life it is, okay?" I take a deep breath and watch as he sits up on the stage, facing me. We're only a few feet apart.

"Fine. Spill, then."

I shrug and advert my gaze. "I didn't want to be there. I know I threatened to kill you, but I didn't mean a word of it. I was just… scared. Scared that, if you told anyone outside of that prep-school boy, the news would get back to my old man and he'd beat the shit outta me, even kick me out. But besides that, I didn't want you to think that I –"

_Like you,_ I finish mentally, and I know it's the truth. Kurt seems not to mind that I skip out saying this. He assumes as much, I'm sure.

I go on: "So. I was there, but if you noticed at all, I really didn't do much. And, honestly, I wasn't going to let my so-called best friend wail on you. I had you in my grip because you fell into me. I had actually been about to toss you aside and tell you to run, but you beat me to it by fighting back. That was a good hit, by the way," I say, touching my face for a second. I shake my head. "Anyway. After you broke free, I bolted toward the football field, yelling for Puckerman and Hudson since I know they're your Glee buddies. And it worked. They came running, probably thinking I was either pulling a prank or telling the truth but deciding not to take any chances. And that's when I…"

I drift off. I can't say any more; my jaw won't let me. It clamps shut, because even I don't want to admit to myself how I slipped up that day, holding him as if I…

And even if I do, it doesn't matter. It's stupid, these feelings. And he doesn't need to know about them.

"Was that _you_?" Kurt's saying suddenly, and I tense up all over. He slides off of the stage and walks directly up to me, face to face. He's not much shorter than me, and it would be better if he were. "It couldn't have been… could it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I snap, turning and bumping his shoulder roughly as I pace past him, headed for the exit. "We're done here."

"Karofsky!" he barks, and suddenly there's as tug on my letterman jacket sleeve. I stop and look back, and there he is, standing fiercely. "Yes, you do know. That _was_ you, wasn't it? The person who held me when I was down. The person who kept telling me they were sorry."

He had been all scuffed up and bruised and bloody, so yes, of course I knelt down to help him! I even carried him into the school nurse, although I left right away. I didn't want to be the first thing he saw when he came-to after passing out.

"So what if I was?" I say gruffly. "It doesn't change anything. I'm still a jerk, you still hate me, and I still got suspended for a while." The bitterness in my tone seems to slice through his heart. He looks at me with those fucking perfectly blue-green eyes. I feel my stomach lurch with squirming, fuzzy caterpillars, and I yank my arm out of his grasp.

"I don't hate you," he says in a near-whisper, and he blinks his eyes, as if restraining tears I can't see. "But what I don't understand is why you did it. Why you act like a jerk when you're the one who kissed and winked at me –"

"It didn't mean anything!" I lie, and with how venomously it came out, Kurt jerks backward slightly. "I was only…"

But I don't know what I was doing, and Kurt is all too aware of it.

He stares at me too intensely for me to look him in the eye. I never could look at him too long. He's too g'damn beautiful, too g'damn confident. Too g'damn desirable. My body aches being near him, even now. That week off was the best thing for me. It helped me forget about him for a while, to help me stay away from the one thing I wish I didn't crave and love so badly.

"You're lying," he says, ever sure of himself. I want to hit him. Or kick myself. Either one works. "It did mean something. Why can't you say it, Karofsky? Why can't you own up to it?"

"Because," I state pointlessly, and then I turn and run. I walk as fast as possible out of the auditorium and return to the bustle of the hallways and lunch. I buy a cold soda and chug it on my way to my next class, Hummel probably still back at the theatre.

_End Part III: Dissolve._


	4. Regroup

_Part IV: Regroup_

_.K U R T._

I swear, David Karofsky is beyond my level of comprehension. I will _never_ understand that buffoon!

After standing in a daze in the auditorium for a while, I finally came to my senses just before the ending lunch bell rang. Mercedes is probably going to wonder where I was, but it doesn't really matter. I'll see her again soon, and then maybe I can talk to her about this.

Karofsky told me not to tell anybody about the kiss, and I won't. But he never forbade be from telling her about this new piece of information, about how he wound up helping – and possibly protecting? – me during that outbreak. I'll convince her not to turn it into gossip. I simply want to get her opinion on it.

Gathering up my things, I briefly glance at the piece of paper I had been about to give the jock. It had mine and Blaine's cell phone numbers on it, in case he wanted to talk to either one of us about whatever it is he's feeling. Just because it hadn't ended well that day on the steps doesn't mean that Blaine or I didn't mean what we said when he told him we could help. I still want to help Karofsky, because part of me hopes it means I won't get bullied any longer.

But another part of me wants to help because I know it's what I should do, and what I truly want to do. Especially knowing that there's something deeper to Karofsky than being a shallow jerk. He's proved that much, at least.

xXx

I interact minimally during Glee Club today, and no one seems to care. They welcome me back and give me quick hugs before diving into all that I've missed both song-project-wise and gossip-wise. They tell me about the juicy details of who's dating and slept with who, as well as the little factoids about the fight that I hadn't been aware of.

Like Karofsky helping me. They flat out say that even they didn't believe it, but Puck himself was there, and he nodded when I asked him if what the girls were saying is true.

"You must've been really out of it, man." Puck says with a snort of a laugh. "You don't remember at all? Karofsky was all over you. It was kinda creepy. He even kicked some jock friend of his in the balls when the guy downed Finn and came after barely-conscious you."

I stare in shock, my lips parted and my eyes a little wide. "…Really?" I say skeptically, and Puck nods.

"It was trippy. Made me think he was high or just completely lost his mind, 'cause it wasn't something I'd expect from him, you know?" Puck's saying, but I'm only thinking about how no one here knows that it actually could be expected, seeing as how he kissed me. And even an asshole like Karofsky has _some_ sense of right and wrong, and knows wrong when he sees it. He simply doesn't always cease the wrong act. This is the one time he did.

"Anyway, back to the music," Rachel interrupts. "Gossip is fun and all, but we have work to do!"

And so I shrug it all off for a while and go about the Glee business, my mind entirely focused. Mercedes whispers to me, however, "Boy, I wish I couldda seen that. I totally would have protected you, of course, but I wouldn't have minded seeing Karofsky act _pleasant._"

I nod my head. Yes, that is definitely quite the thought. One that deserves further investigation, and possibly more proof.

I need to find that dumb jock again.

xXx

_.D A V E._

I can't take this. It's too fucking bizarre.

Hummel was looking for me again, and I could see it. I avoided him, and when I got back to my grandma's house, my parents were there, and it was about all I could take. I blew up at them, my mother gasping and my father exploding as I confessed to what I am in a heated, rage-fueled rant. My father stormed out, my mother hugged me and followed obediently, and my grandmother patted me in consolation on the back.

I stormed off to my grandmother's guest bedroom, which, come to think of it, might wind up turning into my permanent bedroom.

Mam-maw Miriam knocks softly before entering later on. Outside, the sun has sunk and the streetlights are some of the only illumination. She comes bearing freshly baked brownies.

"Would you like one?" she asks, holding up a glass of milk and a plate of two perfectly fudgy squares.

I sigh through my nose and offer a small smile. "Sure. Thanks."

She sits beside me on the lightly dusty bed and hands me the plate and glass. I drink heartily, take a huge bite, and as the chocolate sticks to the roof of my mouth and smothers my tongue, I feel temporarily content.

"I'm proud of you for coming right out and saying it, even if it was a bit blunt and tactless in tone," my grandma chuckles as she rubs a soothing circle on my knee. She brings her hand back to herself as she watches me, waiting for me to say something.

I swallow and set aside the plate for a moment. The back of my hand brushes my chin of any stray crumbs. "Thanks, Mam-maw. I needed someone to be proud of me, since I feel so damn rotten inside."

"Oh, don't feel bad, Davey," she says without hesitation. She looks at me with that strong gaze of hers, so similar to the look Hummel sends me. "You did well. You stood your ground and faced your fear. I say that deserves some pride. And brownies," she adds with a wry smile. "And anyway, now you can take as many more steps as soon as you want, because the largest hurdle is finally out of the way."

"I bet he hates me now," I mutter, referring to my father.

"He'll come around," she assures me. "You're his son. Despite how he acts, part of him still loves you and cares about your well-being."

"I sure hope you're right," I sigh, and as I polish off the other treat, my grandma takes my dishes and leaves with a warm smile.

I flop backward on the bed, wondering what to do with myself. I decide that homework might be a smart thing to do. I grunt as I sit up and dig through my backpack for my folders and books and a pencil. But as I dig around, I notice that one of my usually empty and closed pouches in front is open. I tug back the zipper fully and peer inside. There's a little slip of yellow paper inside, a flash card normally used for studying.

Frowning, utterly puzzled, I lift the paper out and set aside my other school supplies as I stare at it. I unfold it slowly, the handwriting on it generally unknown to me and yet strangely familiar at the same time.

It reads simply, _Because we never say enough to each other to understand. _And there are two phone numbers, the first ending with _(me)_ and the second ending with _(him)_. My curiosity sparked and my heart thudding in my chest, I grab my phone from my jacket pocket and sit back on the bed, wondering if I should.

Fuck it. I might as well. This day couldn't get much weirder, right?

I select the "me" number to dial first, since this person is the author of the note. How they got it in my backpack I can't seem to figure out, but it hardly matters. I type in the numbers and hold the cellular device up to my ear. I wait.

On the third ring, a light, airy, but clearly male voice answers. "Um, hello?" they say, being cautious. "Who is this?"

Of course they don't recognize my number. I'm surprised they even bothered to answer. I ignore the feeling I'm getting about this person sounding like someone I know. "Hey. Are you the person who slipped a note into my backpack?"

There is a short pause, followed by a gasp. "Oh!" the guy says, and he sounds flustered. "I hadn't expected you to find it. Or call. Or… wow. Um, hi."

"Hi," I snort sarcastically. "Mind telling me what that note was about? And who the hell you are?"

"Um," the person begins, nervously. "You really can't tell?"

"No," I reply tonelessly. "I have a shitty phone, and judging by the area code, this is a cell phone number, too. So your voice is all fucked up, if I'm supposed to recognize it."

"Oh. Well. It's better that way, then. If you don't know who I am, I might actually have the chance to talk to you without you hanging up on me." He says, and do I detect a smile in his voice?

"Whatever," I mutter, and lean back against the headboard.

"So…" the stranger says lightly, "I bet you're wondering how I got that note to you without you knowing," and he sounds smugly amused.

"Yeah, it'd be nice to know," I say. This is so damn weird. But a little… fun. I like the thrill of the unknown, like when chatting with a stranger on the Internet.

"I snuck into the locker room at school when I knew you'd be at practice, I found your backpack, and slipped the note in. I was going to give it to you earlier, but the time didn't seem right. And I didn't see you around much later, so I thought I might as well."

"I'll give you props for subtly," I say, mildly amused. "But you must know me pretty well if you know my practice schedule." Am I teasing? Or flirting? God, I hope I'm not. I need to control my tone.

He catches the hint of whatever-that-was and laughs a little shakily. He has a real nice laugh. It's breathless and – daresay – adorable. "I sort of know you. But will you stop trying to figure me out? I just… want to talk to you. There are some things I want to know, and if you give me honest answers, I won't tell anyone."

"That a fact?" I say offhandedly. "Well, all right. But only because I'm procrastinating on my homework and I'm at my grandma's house. That makes me in a good mood, in case you were wondering. I'm feeling generously honest."

The guy on the other end of the line is quiet for a minute. Then, "Have you always talked like that?"

"Huh?" I say, frowning. "What'ya mean?"

I can imagine him shaking his head. "Nevermind." He sighs, making the phone rustle with static. "So. I have a question: what's your deal with Kurt Hummel?"

I freeze. I feel a growl tickle my throat, but I suppress it. "What's it to you? Are you a friend of his?"

"You could say that," the guy responds. "Just answer the question. I heard you actually defended him at the end of that fight last week."

"Yeah, so I did," I admit. I did say that I felt generously honest.

"Why'd you do it?"

I shrug. "It wasn't a fair fight. He needed help."

"But you used to bully him so much," the stranger says softly. "So what made you want to pull a one-eighty?"

I ruffle my own hair. "I dunno! He just needed help, okay? So I helped him. It's no big deal."

"…It is to him. He, uh, told me so. He heard from Puckerman that you seemed to actually _care,_" the guy insists, and his tone is gentle. I gives me pleasurable goosebumps. "And Kurt wants you to know that he… he's grateful to you. He doesn't know why you did it, but he's glad you did."

I feel a blush cloud my cheeks. "Yeah, well," I say uncomfortably, "Tell him he's welcome. But don't let anyone else know. I just…"

"Yes?" he prompts a bit eagerly. Dammit, why am I spilling my guts to this guy? He could be looking for blackmail, or he could be leaking information to Hummel while I'm saying this, for all I know! But… he sounds so sincere and genuine and his voice is so damn lovely that I can't help it.

I sigh. "I just couldn't stand to be the source of his pain anymore, okay? That's all. So I protected him a little, and got him to the school nurse, and left. I don't expect to be thanked by him or anything, and I don't want everyone thinking I'm some turned-over-leaf-sort-of-hero, 'cause I'm not. It was one time, that's all."

He mumbles something under his breath, and I don't catch it. But it sounds oddly like, 'one time… like when you kissed me?' But it couldn't be that. I must be hearing things, since I keep thinking about Hummel.

The guy clears his throat. "I have another thing to ask you, Karofsky. You don't have to answer this one. You can even hang up on me if you want. But I'm going to ask anyhow, all right?"

I shrug, even though he can't see it. "Shoot."

"I won't tell anyone, remember? So please, if you decide to answer, you have to be completely honest with me."

"I get the idea, all right? Just ask your damn question," I say, getting impatient and annoyed.

"Fine. Then, what I want to ask is… um, are you homosexual?"

I tense. How does this guy _know?_ "Hummel must have said something to you," I hiss, "And if he did, he deserves a good, hard shove into his locker for –"

The guy cuts me off and starts defending his question. "No, no, no, no, no!" he says hastily. "I just… I saw it for myself, that's all. You pick on him most, you know. And there have been psychological studies in which they found that bullies sometimes harass gays because they're insecure about their own sexualities, and –"

"Fine, fine, I get the idea." I say, cringing. It sucks that psychologists actually study that sort of thing. And end up getting the correct information. I sigh, pinching and rubbing my brow with one hand. "So he won't get a shove into his locker tomorrow for telling you anything. But still, how is that any of your business?"

"By the way you're being so defensive, it seems to me like you just might be." He says suddenly, and I groan in protest.

"No, I'm not! I mean… okay, yeah, I am, and I kind of blew a casket at my parents tonight and said I was, but what if I'm just confused or bi-curious or something, like my mom was saying tonight? It's possible, right?"

He sounds sympathetic. "I can see how you might think that, but you have to realize that sometimes the truth is the truth. I'm sure you've slept with a girl before, haven't you? A Cheerio, perhaps?"

I sigh, reluctant to answer. I can see where this is going. But I keep up my dumb, clueless act. "Yeah, I have. And…?"

"And you didn't really like it, did you? It didn't make you hot and bothered, touching a girl. You didn't feel any sparks fly. It was just like… going through the motions, not to quote Buffy from the musical episode," he says, a smile evident in his tone.

I grin, despite the previous content of our conversation. "No, feel free to quote Buffy. I love that show. And the musical episode was genius."

That seems to brighten the guy up to downright perky. "You do?" he says with a slight giggle. A _giggle_? – but before I can question it, he says, "But you didn't answer me. You're kind of breezing past the topic."

I groan in frustration. "Damn you. Yes, I am. But that's because I get it. You're right. I tried girls, but the entire time I kept picturing…"

"A guy?" he offers quietly.

"Yeah," I admit even quieter.

The mysterious classmate at the other end of the line pauses, and for a moment, I think the line has gone dead and I'm about to hang up. But suddenly, he's saying cheerfully, "Thanks so much for talking to me, Karofsky. Seriously. I think I have you pegged, now, and don't worry, your secrets are safe. If you want, I can even act as though this conversation never happened when we see each other again at school."

"That's okay, but I'd rather know who you are," I say sneakily. "You'll have to confess some time." And dammit, there I go teasing/flirting again. Can't I keep my mouth shut?

"In that case, I might as well tell you," he says, less confidence in his tone this time. "It's me, Kurt."

And suddenly I'm shutting my phone, disconnecting the call in the process, and am left staring blankly at the wall.

_End Part IV: Regroup._


	5. Reform

_Part V: Reform_

_.K U R T._

He… he hung up on me! That imbecile hung up on me! And whether it was out of surprise, spite, or mortification, I haven't an idea in the slightest. Still, that doesn't stop me from being a little angry.

Pouting, I toss my phone aside. I shouldn't have told him who I was. But I thought it would work! I thought that, since we were having an astonishingly bonding experience, he wouldn't mind that it was me on the other end of the line. But no, it seems he didn't like it, and decided to hang up. Asshole.

And I'm not mad because I was starting to actually like him as a person or anything. That would just be ridiculous! I know he's a jerk and a bully and a jockstrap, and always will be. I'm fine with that. I totally don't care that, as it turns out, he knows more complicated words than I thought he knew, or that he likes Buffy The Vampire Slayer almost as much as I do, or that he truly is completely gay. It doesn't matter at all. Nope, not one bit.

I grind my teeth and cross my arms over my chest. David fucking Karofsky is a waste of my time. I don't even know why I give him the time of day. Tch.

Muttering to myself, I almost don't notice Finn come into the room. He gets one look at me and dares to ask, "Um, Kurt? Something wrong, dude?"

I snatch a pillow from behind me and strangle it with my forearms. "Everything. Is. Fine," I return slowly, heat rising to my face.

Finn looks confused. "Um… no, it's not. Your face is red. And you look angrier than a wild horse with its first rider on its back." He laughs at his own analogy and comes to sit at the edge of my bed. "Mind sharing?"

"Like you care," I pout, and turn my face away from his, my pretzeled legs shifting.

"You're my stepbrother now. Of course I care!" he says, and I as I finally look at him again, I find that he means it.

I sigh. "Fine, I'll share. But it's going to sound highly improbable."

"I think I can handle that," Finn says with a smile. He's so cute. I don't blame myself for having a crush on him before. He called me out on it all those months ago, and I denied it, but it was true. I like Blaine now, though. I think. Maybe. I _should…_

Shaking my head, ridding it of unnecessary thought, I clear my throat to speak. "Today, I decided to slip Karofsky a note into his backpack, giving him my cell phone number. I didn't write that it was me, though, and I was surprised when he actually found it and called."

Finn raises an eyebrow. "Okay…? And why, pray tell, did you give your bully your phone number?"

"_Duhh,_ to talk to him," I say as it if were the most obvious thing in the world. "There's… been a lot left unsaid between us, and I wanted to get my facts straight. Luckily for me, he called out of curiosity, and then didn't recognize my voice. We talked for a while, and as it happens, he's not such a bad guy after all. But…" my pout returns, "Then he hung up on me."

"Why?"

"Because I told him who I was."

"So he hung up," Finn clarifies.

I nod. "Yeah."

"And you're upset that he was so rude," Finn clarifies again.

I sigh. "Yup." I steal a glance at Finn. "Do you think he hates me even more for tricking him into telling me stuff?"

"…I'm just shocked that he told someone he didn't know anything at all," Finn says, a sudden smirk forming on his lips. "It seems pretty hilarious: Big Bad Karofsky, owner of his first The Fury, opening up to someone. Oh, wait, I should correct myself: opening up to _anyone_."

I laugh a little. "Yeah, it was pretty funny. And a little out of his character; well, as far as I know his character, anyhow. But he said he was in a not-caring sort of mood, since he came out to his parents and was staying at his grandma's house –" and I suddenly cut myself off with a startled gasp. Holy crap! I didn't mean to leak that just now!

Finn stares at me in disbelief as the words register in his mind. I can see the gears turning in his head as he sputters, "Wait… 'came out'? As in, the out-of-the-closet, he's actually _gay_, sort of 'came out'?"

I inwardly wince and kick myself mentally. Crap! "No, that's not what I said. You heard wrong, Finn. I said that he moved out from his parents' house, that's all. Yeah," I add, trying to sound less like I'm covering it all up.

Finn shakes his head. "I know what I heard, Kurt. You just said –"

"Oh, please don't tell anybody, Finn! _Please!_ It would ruin Karofsky, and if he gets ruined, he'll ruin _me!_ He can't know that you know. No one can know that you know. Okay? It was just a slip of the tongue! I really didn't –"

Finn steadies me with his warm hands on my shoulders. "Okay, Kurt, okay! Sweet Cheesus, just _calm down._ I understand. I won't say anything. Sheesh," he says, shaking his head at me. "I swear, you overreact _way_ too much. You're so… um... what's the word?"

"Melodramatic?" I sigh, knowing full well that I am. "I'm aware."

"Yeah, that," Finn chuckles. He gives me a slap on the back. "Don't worry about it, Kurt. Really. Karofsky's just some dumb bully."

"…Right," I agree, but only half-heartedly. Something changed during that phone call, and I don't know if it was Karofsky or me, but it was something, and I have the urge to elaborate on it. "I think I'm going to go to bed a little earlier than usual tonight. So… goodnight," I say, waving him off of my bed.

He stands, shrugs, and decides to go play some video games for a while. I hear the white noise of a shooting game and fall asleep within half an hour.

xXx

At school the next day, I spy Karofsky in the hallway, and I'm torn at what to do. Should I wave? Should I act like I don't know him? What –

But the moment passes as he sees me and turns and walks the other way. There was nothing telling on his face when he saw me; not so much as an inkling of reaction. Damn, does that boy have a well-practiced poker face.

Sighing to myself, I go about my daily routine in a misty daze. Everything feels a bit far-off, and I can't place why. It could be that my equilibrium is off; I mean, my entire world had changed. My bully kissed me. My dad got married. I got beat up worse than usual. And then I actually started to relate to my bully. And all within a few weeks.

The change is too much, I think. I think it's throwing off my game; my singing doesn't sound right, my classes feel stretched, and my friends seem not to notice or care. And it irks me to no end.

Finally fed up, I storm over to Karofsky while he's at his locker. "Hey!" I say loudly, but not loud enough to disrupt anyone else, only enough to catch his attention. My tone isn't angry or friendly, but instead an odd mix of the two.

"And what do you want?" Karofsky says as if he's tired, precisely the way he spoke to me when he said, 'The girls' locker room is next door.'

"Why do you hate me so much?" I say, my voice lowered a notch. "I tell you who I am, and then you hang up. You're such an asshole!"

He frowns, slamming his locker door shut, but with less vigor than before. "Shut up, Hummel. I don't want to have this conversation here."

"Then where should we have it?" I counter, utterly annoyed.

"Less people," is all he says, and then he stalks off, brushing against my arm as he goes. I touch my arm and shake the feeling of my heart beating a little faster at the thought of us being alone again.

xXx

_.D A V E._

I feel like a moron as I wait outside my car after school hours, the parking lot a deserted ghost town. Hummel actually shows up, though. He comes walking out, head held high, with his hands clinging to the shoulder strap of his bag.

I lean off of the side of my car and unfold my arms from my chest. "Want to go to Starbucks? I'll buy." I offer, as if it were normal. As if we did it all the time. He eyes me suspiciously, but agrees. I mean, who turns down free coffee?

He orders a vanilla frappichino, sweet and creamy and cold, whereas I get myself a simple house blend, black, hot, and slightly bitter. Polar opposites.

"So," he begins, licking the whip cream off the end of his straw (and I swear to God, I'm not staring; I'm not). "Where were we? Oh yeah: I was calling you an asshole for hanging up on me. All I did was say who I was! And you wanted to know."

"Yes, but I wasn't expecting it to be _you,_" I relay grumpily. "You seemed like you were a friend or something, and I thought it was neutral ground. I was a taken aback when I found it was you, and I didn't think. I just slammed my cell shut, not sure where else to go. So I guess I'm sorry for being rude or whatever," I mutter half into my coffee.

"Hmm," Hummel hums thoughtfully, as he finally starts drinking his beverage through the straw like a normal person. My shoulders fall with relief when I'm finally able to look at his face again without seeing him lick at white stuff at the end of a wide green tube. "In that case, I suppose I can forgive you." And he actually smiles. _At me,_ of all people. I'm so startled that I blink a few times without saying anything. He simply laughs. "You like Buffy?" he adds, that smile still playing on his lips.

"Yes?" I say, not sure what's happening here.

"We should watch it together sometime. No one in my household seems to understand why I love it, so it would be refreshing to watch it with someone who appreciates the '90-slash-early-2000s television show."

"What's there not to love about it?" I counter. "It has great actors, clever writing, ugly, badass monsters, and tons of fighting and romantic drama. It's perfect."

"Exactly. And there's even a musical episode," he adds. "That one's my favorite, for obvious reasons."

"Typical," I say with a roll of my eyes. But I don't mean it half as mockingly as it sounds.

He reaches over the short table and shoves my arm. "Anyway," he adds, "We should. Watch it, I mean. Together. And maybe even Repo! The Genetic Opera. It also has singing Anthony Stewart Head in it."

"Who?"

"Giles," Kurt says. I immediately know whom he means.

"Oh," I nod. I think for a second. "Wait, Repo? I know Repo. I found out about the storyline on the Internet, and I've heard some of the music. I thought it was just a play of some sort, like Wicked. It's a _movie_?"

He looks at me, flabbergasted. "You've never seen it? Admittedly, I despise gore, and it's directed by one of the Saw directors, but it's amazing. It combines Gothic themes with Italian operas and modern-day rock music. It's a must-see!"

I raise my hands in defeat. "Fine, fine. I'll watch it."

"Great!" Kurt says cheerfully. "Then it's settled. You're coming over to watch Buffy and Repo with me."

I blink in surprise. "Whoa, whoa. I never agreed to watch any of this stuff with you. And why would you _want_ to invite me over? You think just because I talk to you once on the phone and happen to pay for a coffee for you, we're suddenly friends?"

Kurt feigns thinking before flashing me a smile that nearly stops my heart, it's so stunning. His dimples make me want to kiss him again. "Yeah, I think it does, actually. You act all tough, Karofsky, but you're just a big softie with a bad home life. All you need is a positive influence, and I think I can be your guide."

I stare at him for a long, long moment. His smile fades, but the positive energy doesn't dissipate as it rolls off of him and hits me in waves. I lean back in my chair and blow air out of my mouth.

"What's so difficult about it?" he says plainly. "Why wouldn't you want to be my friend? Need I remind you that nearly all your pals are either suspended or expelled at the moment, and you are in some serious need of rehab? - _Personality_ rehab? Especially since you…" And he lowers his voice to a whisper, thankfully, as he says, "…Outed yourself to your parents?"

I make a stifled grunting noise. He has some valid points. Sighing, I lean forward onto the table once again. "All right, all right. I comply, dammit. I'll watch some movies and stuff with you. Just… don't expect us to be best buddies at school or anything."

"Oh, of course not, _Dave_," he says, and as he utters my name with such a sickly sweet tone and matching smirk, I feel my stomach do a flip-flop in my abdomen. I blink, lean back again, and look at anywhere but his face. Kurt breaks the silence. "Would you like to start today? When you drive me home, I'll let you choose any episode you like from Season 1 of Buffy. I have all of them as box set DVDs, in case you were wondering."

Oh, yeah, this is definitely going to be one awkward roller coaster of a friendship. And yet part of me is absolutely delighted, because it means I'll be getting closer to him. And I really, really want to do that.

_End Part V: Reform._


	6. Fresh

**A/N: This is a short one, sorry. But the next one will be much longer. :3**

**And look! I broke the pattern! This one starts with Dave instead, LOLOLOL.  
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_Part VI: Fresh_

_.D A V E._

"Mam-maw!" I call out in a tone so happy it doesn't suit me at all. I haven't heard myself sound so cheerful in years.

She comes rushing (well, as compared to her usual old-lady shuffle, anyhow) down to meet me. "What is it, Davey? Is something wro–" She stares at me. "You're _beaming_." She grins wholeheartedly. "Something right must have happened, then."

"Very right. Extremely right. Overly right," I say, my voice remaining calm but my smile still plastered on my face.

"Oh, I'm so happy for you, Davey! It's not often I see you this way. Come tell your old granny all about it."

And so I do. I tell her about my weird, nearly anonymous call with Kurt last night, and talking to him over coffee today, and then watching Buffy The Vampire Slayer with him. She's laughing and smiling the entire time, patting me on the hand.

"Oh, Davey. I knew all you had to do was stop pushing him around and good things would happen. Please, don't let him get away from you, Davey. He'll be such a positive influence on you."

"Funny, that's what he said," I remark thoughtfully.

"Really?" my grandma says with a laugh. "Well then, that means he thinks like me, and I automatically approve of him!" And she smacks me lightly, playfully. She has a lot of energy today, and it's nice, since she is about sixty-seven and losing a bit of her youth every single day. "Would you like anything to eat? It's nearly supper time."

"No, I ate at his house," I inform her. "I'm just going to do homework and then take a shower and go to bed."

"Okay, Davey. See you in the mornin'." And she kisses her hand and waves at me as I head up the stairs in a good enough mood to sing along while I listen to my iPod and do my homework.

Heh, looks like Kurt's rubbing off on me already. And surprisingly, I don't sound all that bad when I sing.

xXx

_.K U R T._

My head is spinning. It's like being on the teacup rides at the carnival as a child, my young little brains churning like fruit in a blender. I stumble and topple onto my bed, thoughts passing in and out through the headache I've acquired from not drinking enough water today.

But that's not what's really concerning me. What concerns me is that Blaine hasn't called in a couple days, and I haven't _noticed_ or _cared_. And that's not normal. I have a crush on him – or maybe I _did_ have a crush on him? But why do I suddenly feel like I don't? I was obsessed with the very idea of him: perfect, dark-haired, handsome Blaine; good grades and lovely, white-toothed, dimpled smile Blaine; the Blaine of a wonderfully accepting, all-boys private school; the boy who can sing and dance, and who was there for me, and who I like to hang out with so much, and who likes everything I do.

And yet… I haven't thought about him nearly as much because he's so boringly similar to me, so tiresomely perfect. And I thought I wanted that. But it seems I don't. And now I don't even know that it is I want.

It makes my headache all the worse.

Dave and I had fun today, though. It was weird, because he didn't talk much at first, and didn't smile much, either. But soon we were naturally calling each other by our first instead of last names, and he made jokes about how I'm like a bitchier, boy version of Cordelia, and I countered that he's like a grumpy, stocky version of Xander, and then it was funny because we realized that they kind of end up together, and we blushed and an awkward silence fell before we burst out into wild laughter. And I never realized the quick, dry humor he has, and how well we can actually get along, and –

No, Kurt. Stop there. You're giddy and rambling on about a guy who used to push you around and call you horrible names? How the hell did _this _start?

But I realize: it began with that kiss, didn't it? And I felt so robbed back then, so violated; and yet now I think it was the perfect breaking point, something to shatter his disillusions and open my eyes.

Whoa. I really need to drink some water and rid myself of this headache. It's making me think some crazy shit.

But I can't argue with one tiny fact that keeps popping up in my head: Dave Karofsky and I have a fresh start, now, and I think I really like it.

_End Part VI: Fresh._


	7. Evolve

_Part VII: Evolve_

_.K U R T._

At school, I almost don't know what to expect. But I get my answer when Dave walks by me, gives me a push so gentle I hardly move, and smiles while he says, "Old habits die hard, eh?" before laughing.

I smile back, and give him a return push just as light. "Apparently so," I agree.

And half of the students in the hallway stop and stare at this exchange, even after Dave has walked away.

Mercedes comes up behind me, her arm dropping around my shoulder. "White boy, did I just see what I think I just saw?"

"If you just saw big, bad Karofsky and I mess around, then yes. Your eyes are telling no lies." I smile lightly at my rhyme.

She leans back, her expression disbelieving in that blackitude way. It's so cute that I give her a teasing nudge.

"Don't look at me like that, Merce. I know it looks like it happened overnight, and maybe it did, but Dave and I are friends now."

"Dave?" she repeats. "That jerk has a name, now? Oh, this is too much for me," she says with mock shock. She puts a hand over her heart and pretends to stagger. "And how, by chance, did this come to be?"

"Well, my dear," I relay as I hook my elbow with hers as if we were off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz. "Let me tell you a little story about a gang fight, an unlikely hero, and a yellow flash card slipped into a backpack…"

And we walk down the hallway, chatting the entire time, and even laughing a little. And everything feels so _right._

xXx

_.D A V E._

How? How did everything go so wrong?

I come home from practice – my home being my grandmother's, now – and I find my father's truck in the driveway. My heart freezes up, the beating slowing down with anticipation. I tense as I reach for the doorknob, the nippy air biting at my skin.

I enter and call out wearily, "Mam-maw? …Dad?"

But I'm relieved to find only my mother at the kitchen table with my grandma. There are tears streaming down my mom's face.

"I can't take it anymore, David," she says, getting up and running to me. Her curvy body collides with mine and I'm thrown off-balance, somehow managing to stay upright. "Your father has turned into a drunken brute, and I can't take it. He's so mad at you. He threatened to hurt you! _You_, my baby boy! I couldn't take it. I had to leave. I need to divorce him, David. He's no good for you, or for me, or for _any of us._ He's just awful. I should have never married him." She touches my face, ad I'm still slack-jawed and speechless. "But I'm glad I did, if only because it means I had you." And she hugs me again, and this time, the shock wears off enough for me to return my mother's embrace. "I love you, David. I know that you're different than most boys, I've always had an idea, and I was secretly so proud of you for finally telling us. But I was scared for you, and for me, and now I want nothing more than to find a place of our own."

"This… is so sudden, Mom," I state slowly, and I peel her off of me enough to look her in the eyes. "Did something happen?"

She starts crying again, as heavy as before. She weeps and my grandma appears behind her, holding her arms and rubbing soothing circles with her bony thumbs. My mother is a mess, her make-up running down her face as she brings her hands up and hides herself.

"Last night. Last night was the l-last straw, Dave. I couldn't do it. Your father had me pinned to the ground, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol, and he said that I need to come over here and drag you back home so that he c-could 'beat the gay outta you.' I couldn't do it, though. So I came here after you left for school this morning a-and I haven't been home since." She points to the family room. "I even brought most of my possessions, packing them while your father slept off his hangover. I just… don't want to be around poison any longer." She looks at me with teary, hopeful eyes. "We should run away, Dave, sweetie. We should pack up and go. How about someplace nice, like the south? Or the west? I even heard that it's nice in the Midwest, like in Iowa –"

"Whoa. Mom. Settle down," I say softly, my hands falling on her shoulders. "Don't rush things, okay? Stop and think for a minute. I'm almost finished with high school, it takes at least a couple months to finalize a divorce, and for the time being, Dad doesn't even know that you want to do this. We have to take things one step at a time," I remind her, and it's strange, because I'm never the voice of reason. She usually is. It feels backwards being a parental figure to her.

She takes in a deep, shaky breath. "You're right. You're right. What was I thinking? I can't up and leave so suddenly; that's not how things work. Financially and practically, that's not a possible choice." She grips the sides of her head and sucks in her bottom lip while she shakes her head back and forth. She opens her eyes, blinks, then drops her hands as she looks at me. "I'm sorry, Dave. I'm just too emotional right now. I blame my upcoming period."

"_TMI_, Mom," I say weakly. _Too much information._ I hate it when mothers express when their monthly is coming around. It's a disgusting thought, and it makes me appreciate all the more that I'm a dude.

My mom laughs hollowly. "Yeah. Sorry. Right again; that is TMI. I'll be quiet now." And she wanders back into the kitchen from the front hall, plopping down in one of the chairs and raising a giraffe mug (what is with my grandma and mugs that have animals prints?) to her lips.

My grandma stayed behind, near me. She leans in close and murmurs, "Your mother needs comfort at the moment, and then she'll need approval and reassurance. She means it; she's going to divorce your father. And she'll going to need all the support she can get. Are you prepared for that, Davey?"

I sigh lowly, and run a hand through my hair. I look to my grandma's winkled, serious face. I nod once. "Yup. I can handle it, Mam-maw. And don't worry, I actually _want _her to divorce him. My dad is being a real douchebag."

It takes her a moment to grasp what I've said, and then she bursts into a hearty chuckle. "Douchebag? Is that what they're calling assholes these days? That's priceless. Douches are used to clean a woman's private area! Haha, that's one for the memory bank." She walks back toward my mom, a muttered, "Douchebag! Priceless!" under her breath being carried down the hallway to me.

Oh, Mam-maw. You're so behind the times and yet love each piece of new information so much it's actually laughable.

But there still poses a problem: I have yet another home life issue to add to my annoyingly ever-growing list, and to be frank, I'm getting sick and tired of it. When will the bullshit end?

I head up to the guest bedroom – my new room, I guess I should start thinking of it as – and grab Kurt's number, programming it into my phone. I ignore the other number. Who knows whose it is. I only care about Kurt's. And while I stare at his name in my phone directory, I wonder: should I call him? Should I tell him what my mother decided?

Nah, I decide, that sort of information is too heavy, especially for a blossoming friendship. So I brush it to the back of my mind and call Kurt for another reason entirely: just to hear him speak.

_End Part VII: Evolve_


	8. Alter

**A/N: Okay, so, in the first chapter when I said that this probably won't go near ten chapters? Yeah. Without meaning to, I kinda... lied. I truly thought that this story wouldn't progress very far, and that I wouldn't update it, like, six times on the same day i started it, and... well. That it would be so well-received, because despite the lack of reviews (YOU PEOPLE MADE ME SAD BY NOT REVIEWING), I do have 18 alerts and about 6 favorites. So thank you, all!**

**Random note: in the beginning of this chapter, there are spoilers for Repo! The Genetic Opera. If you don't know it, great! If you do, and you've seen it, fine! But if you've heard about it and/or plan on seeing it, I'm sorry for spoiling you. XD**

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_Part VIII: Alter_

_.K U R T._

"This movie is _epic,"_ Dave murmurs as we're nearing the climax of Repo! The Genetic Opera. "Honestly, I'm not the biggest fan of this much singing, but the songs are badass and the gore is hilarious. Those intestines during 'Thankless Job' made a rubberband snapping noise, for Chis'sake. I love it." And he laughs, soon growing quiet as the intense scene on the opera stage begins.

I smile in return and unconsciously adjust my seating to be nearer to him. We've been having this bizarre friendship for just over a week now, and the truly strange thing about it is that we get along so well. I would have never thought so, considering how vile he used to be to me, but given the chance to be himself, Dave's pretty awesome, if I'm allowed to sound girly and silly.

"Whoa. No!" Dave says suddenly, reacting to seeing Rotti take the gun from Shilo and fire at Nathan. "Nooo, not Nathan! Dammit, I like him! Does he die, Kurt? Tell me he doesn't die, or I swear to God, I'll –"

"Dave, you can't beat up Rotti. He's a fictional character being played by an actor." I remind him with a smirk tugging at my lips.

He sighs with frustration. "I know. But still. It makes me mad. Nathan's my favorite. He has the best singing voice. He's the fuckin' Repo man. And he's such a good – albeit overly protective – father to Shilo. I don't want to watch him die!"

Shilo is my favorite, and not just because the adorable Alexa Vega plays her or that I love her voice or even that she has amazing clothes. I just love how her character changes throughout the film. But I don't tell him this, because I don't want to argue. Nor do I tell him that Nathan does, in fact, die. Instead, I sit back and watch him as tears surprisingly come to his eyes as 'Didn't Know I Loved You So Much' begins to play, followed by the ever-moving 'Genetic Emancipation.'

Once the movie is over, Dave turns to me. "Thanks for that, man. I'm glad you brought it up before."

"Naturally," I say as I retrieve the DVD from the player. As I turn back around, sliding the DVD box into its paper casing, Dave stretches and his shirt rides up, and for a moment, I catch a brief glimpse of his lower stomach and the treasure trail leading down from his belly button to his jeans. I blush and turn away, because I hadn't expected to see an actually firm abdomen beneath his loose-fitting clothes. I called him chubby before, and while he does weigh more than me, that doesn't mean that most of it isn't muscle. I seemed to have forgotten that little fact.

"Crap, is that the time?" Dave asks suddenly, and I glance back at him to find him pointing to a clock in the room.

"No, it's actually five minutes slow."

"Fuck!" Dave says, bolting up from the couch. "I gotta go. I was supposed to help go with my mom somewhere. I'll see you at school on Monday, Kurt." And he gives me a brief smile as he hops into his massive tennis shoes and flies out the door.

I try to call out to him – he forgot his letterman jacket, and I'm a little curious to know what's so urgent about getting his mother 'somewhere' – but he's already in his car, and I'd rather not run out into the cold November weather to tell or ask him. So I watch him go and return to the living room, my hand automatically brushing the gruff red fuzz of his jacket on the armchair.

I trace the black McKinley _'M'_ with my fingers before picking up the jacket. It's so tacky. Why do they make jocks wear such un-fashionable jackets? I mean, the design is decades old. I know for a fact that jocks in the 1950s wore the same exact style of clothing. And yet… the retro-ness of it makes it kind of cool, and the fabric – despite being hideous and a little scratchy to the bare touch – is practical, useful for chilly weather.

On impulse, I bring the worn jacket closer and slip it on. It's far too big on me. It hangs off of my narrow shoulders by a few inches, and grazes the middle of my thighs at the bottom. And the _sleeves._ They're dangling inches past where my fingers stop. It looks ridiculous and feels ridiculous and I know that it just plain _is _ridiculous.

But… the jacket is warm, and it smells like pleather and burning wood and some sort of spicy, nearly bitter, almost apple-scented cologne that is so intensely _masculine_ that it makes me swoon a bit, a heady feeling swarming my brain.

I snap out of it, realizing how dangerous this is. With a blink to my widening eyes, I shrug off the jacket and leave it on the armchair, quickly retreating to my basement room.

…Except Dave's scent is on my clothes, now, and I can't stop inhaling the oddly delicious mix of my own scent and his mingling together just on the surface of my skin.

And I don't even want to _think_ about what that can possibly _mean, _nor why I feel so _accepting_ of the concept.

xXx

_.D A V E._

The trip to the lawyer end up not being half as God-awful as I thought it'd be.

The appointment to the lawyer's office is actually the reason why I had to rush out of Kurt's house, ultimately forgetting my jacket. Dammit. It's cold in this stupid office, as if they don't want to pay for central heating yet. And the stupid part is, this place smells like dust. Dust and Windex. It's disgusting, and I feel my nose crinkling while I sit and wait for my mom to finish up her chat with the businessman.

She only wanted me to do with her for moral support, and something about being the driver in case she gets too emotional over this or whatever. And I agreed to it, because I really don't care about having to drive, and I know that she needs me. I'm her rock now. Her full, stable support, since my grandma is old and tired and my father is the main problem.

Idly, I think to myself how leaving my jacket at Kurt's is like leaving a piece of myself with him, and as odd as that sounds, it's even odder to know that I kinda-sorta have had a piece of him with me for a while; I took his scarf a while back, and he still doesn't know that it had been me. I feel like I should give it back now that we're friends, but I'm a little ashamed to even admit that I have it, considering the fact that, even in my denial, I would still hold that scarf close to my face and inhale –

I'm saved from my embarrassing thoughts as my mother emerges from the office, vigorously shaking the lawyer's hand and smiling through tears. "Thank you so much!" she's saying brokenly, her voice uneven and squeaky.

As we pace in the direction of the car, my mom starts talking with her hands, gesturing as she describes in details I don't understand about how she'll be able to take our house in the divorce since she works and my father is currently unemployed, and she goes into mortgages and custody of me and other adult crap I nod and nod over but don't fully grasp the concept of. Only that my mother feels much more confident now, and seems to feel more solid about her final decision.

"This is going to work out well, I promise," she says to me, and give my shoulder a small squeeze before she puts the car in gear. We pull out of the parking lot and head back to my grandma's, but on the way she gets a call from my dad.

I can hear him yelling over her cell phone, and as my mother pulls over, she orders me to take the wheel. Her good mood vanishes into thin air. She descends into a rage, barking things back at my father and scream-sobbing how she's through with him and his bullshit and wants out and how she never wants to see him again, and that he can either change his ways completely – no more drinking, no more violence, no more homophobia – or he can go jump off a cliff with how little she cares.

When she's through, she's huffing and pink-faces and wiping her forehead beneath her bangs. She removes her glasses and dabs at her eyes with a Wendy's napkin she finds in the glovebox.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," she apologizes softly. "Dave?" she says after a short pause. "Tomorrow is Saturday, right?"

"Yes, Mom," I tell her in a low, calm voice. Where's she going with this?

"…Do you mind asking that nice boy you met recently if you could spend the night at his house tomorrow night? I… have some thing I need to do, and I don't want you to accidentally get dragged into it."

I assume that she has to fight my father about our house, or something similar to that. I slowly nod my head, uneasy butterflies fluttering, magically hatched from the chrysalises of the caterpillars I usually get. "Um… sure, Mom."

She smiles meekly. "Good."

But I'm actually nowhere near as sure as I sound. Me, spend the night at Kurt's? Me, in his house at night, within range of his sleeping form? Me, within the same vicinity of the person I normally dream about? The mere thought of it sends shivers down my spine, lightly tickling my fingertips with static electricity. I don't want to have to ask. I pray that when I do, he says 'no.' I don't like temptation. I never have. Why else bully him so much before?

I swallow dryly and nibble on my bottom lip. And what will Mr. Hummel say? He hasn't even met me yet. Does he even know I'm Kurt's friend? Does he even know that I'm the same guy who used to torment his son, calling him names and shoving him and dumping him in trash and giving him slushies to the face and nailing his launch furniture –

I shake my head. But I'm not that same guy any longer, am I? I've changed. I've shed that retarded shell and grown outward, like the Grinch getting a bigger heart. I'm cool now. I'm liked for not only being an athlete, but I'm also liked by half the Glee Club because Kurt said that I'm worth it. And I feel like I'm worth it.

But I know better than to test my luck. Burt Hummel and his new wife, Carole Hummel, are both coming home this weekend, and it would be bad timing to ask to spend the night, and even worse to have them come home and have Kurt say, "Oh, welcome back! By the way, this is my new pal Dave, can he sleep over?" And have them think that, since Kurt's gay, I might be his boyfriend, and –

"Dave, are you all right? You parked in the driveway five minutes ago."

I jerk backward, and release my grip on the steering wheel. Talk about automatic driving. I shake my head. "Fine, Mom. Just… lost in thought, that's all."

"Oh. Okay." She smiles. "Remember to ask, now!"

And as she exits the car, I let out a breath I didn't know I had been keeping in. I slowly unbuckle myself and pile out of the vehicle as more thoughts dare to plague my already confused head.

I need a steaming-hot shower. Those always clear my mind.

_End Part VIII: Alter._


	9. Different

**A/N: Know how I might've spoiled Repo! for some people? Wellll in this chapter, they watch Valentine's Day, so... yeah. Spoiler alert for another movie, I suppose? XD**

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_Part IX: Different_

_.K U R T._

"Dave?" I say, picking up my iPhone and answering the call. "What's up?"

"Um," he begins, sounding uneasy, "Kurt, this is a weird thing to ask, but… Can I spend the night at your house tomorrow? I know your parents are supposed to be coming home, but my mom has something to do and she doesn't want me to be someplace where my dad can find me easily, and –"

"Whoa, slow down," I say, a frown forming on my brow. "It's okay, Dave. _Really._ I totally understand. And just so you know, Carole called me after you left this afternoon. She said that she and my dad decided to stay this last weekend and come home Sunday night. So you have no worries. All right?"

A long, low breath clogs the phone as he exhales sharply. "Okay. God. I was stressed over nothing. It's just so… awkward."

"I agree," I chuckle, and recline backward on the couch. I ignore the fact that I'm sitting near the armchair with his jacket on it. It makes me remember, though, to tell him. "And you can get your letterman when you come over tomorrow."

He laughs. "Heh, yeah, I thought I was forgetting something," he jokes. He pauses, his voice lowering slightly. "Thanks, though. I've… actually been keeping a lot from you, since I didn't feel like it was right to tell you some things. But seeing as how I'm going to once again take advantage of your hospitality, I might as well tell you."

"Tell me what?" I say, concern dancing onto my facial features.

There's a short silence over the phone. Then, his voice grows angry, and the words come out as if he's spitting them out with how unpleasant they are. "My mom's divorcing my dad, and things might get ugly." He sighs, and his tone loosens. I imagine him clenching and slowly releasing his fist. "So… that's why I'm stowing away at your place tomorrow."

I blink a few times. It still blows my mind knowing that Dave Karofsky is so different lately. But some people can make a one-eighty; it's totally possible. It's like alchemy, changing one thing into another miraculously. But for that change to occur, there always has to be those elements buried deep inside. I smile. "Well, thanks for telling me. It's nice to know that you trust me enough."

"I probably trust you more than anybody at this point," he mutters, and I almost don't hear him. "You and my grandma."

I don't have anything to say to that. I simply nod my head even though he can't see it, and tighten my grip on the phone.

"Well, I better do my homework before the weekend flies by and it's left unfinished," Dave says after a while, and there's something undetectable in his tone. He says a hasty goodbye that I return, and then the phone is dead.

I set the device down and stare at it for a while. It sinks in: I'm going to have Dave Karofsky over at my house for an entire night tomorrow.

The thought feels foreign and exciting for reasons I both know and don't know. Foreign because he used to be an enemy just over two weeks ago, and exciting because…

I really don't know. It makes me nervous in a good way, if that makes any sort of sense.

I just wonder how he feels about all of this. He seemed reluctant to even ask, so I wonder: why? What's so bad about sleeping over? Girls do it all the time. Guys sometimes do, usually to play marathon rounds of Halo together. But then again, with Dave and I… (I mean, he's _kissed_ me in the past…)

I shake my head. Bah, I'll worry about it tomorrow evening when the time comes. For now, I should probably get ready for bed. I'm sleepy.

xXx

_.D A V E._

I pull into his driveway approximately the same time that Finn is pulling out, most likely off to hang out with some friends or his girlfriend. I feel awkward as I stand in the doorway, my feet shifting uncomfortably.

When Kurt answers the door, he's smiling. "Hey," he greets as he helps me carry in my duffel bag and pillow.

"Hey," I mumble in reply, and I feel so out of place that it's nearly making me nauseous. And I think Kurt can feel it, too, because he isn't saying much as he sets me up a place on the couch to sleep, and holds up about five DVDs. He asks if I want some water or a Coke. He isn't looking at me directly half of the time, and I'm doing the same in return.

This is fucking _humiliating_ and… What's a better word for 'awkward' and 'weird beyond belief?' Oh yeah, fucking _discomfited_ and _peculiar_.

I take the proffered Coke and select a DVD at random, simply pointing at one. Kurt looks at it, raises an eyebrow, and then smiles. I have no idea what I chose. I don't particularly care. Just being away from the drama of my household(s) is enough, really. Even if I was somewhat forced into leaving by my mom. Still, I'm with Kurt, and as much as I don't want to own up to it, I like hanging out with him. We disagree a lot, but other times we're oddly harmonious. And I like it a lot. More than I probably should.

When the movie starts playing, I realize with a groan that I accidentally chose Valentine's Day. Great, a romantic comedy! Why did he even have that as a choice?

Kurt laughs at me. "I knew you didn't mean to pick that one. Do you want a different movie?"

I can tell by the expression on his pretty little face that he doesn't want to change the movie. I sigh heavily. "Nah, this is okay, I guess. I've never seen it, though, and it seems like such a chick flick –"

"It kind of is," Kurt admits, "But plenty of guys ended up liking this movie too, you know. There's plenty of sexual humor to keep even you entertained, I'm sure," he tells me, and I sigh again and lean backward on the couch. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

…About forty minutes in, I'm secretly hooked. This movie is funny as hell, especially with ditzy Tailor Swift and just-as-ditzy Taylor Lautner. And the entire Anne Hathaway-as-a-sex-hotline-babe is my favorite part. It makes me crack up, since she's normally such a sweet person in her other movies.

I'm shocked when the football player admits to being gay. It throws me off, because I'm sitting here thinking that it took this guy _years_ to confess what he truly is, all because he didn't want to fuck up his career. And I can feel Kurt's eyes on me, trying to gauge my reaction. I can feel my mouth open in slightly shock, and I close it.

Kurt pauses the movie. "He… did it more publicly, but it doesn't have to be that way, you know," he says softly, and waits for me to connect my gaze with his. When I finally do, he offers a small, sad smile. "And you don't have to wait as long."

"I know," is all I can think to say. I look back to the frozen screen, and Kurt takes the hint and continues the movie.

When the movie's over, Kurt asks if I want to play air hockey with him. Apparently it's Finn's old table, one he brought with him when he and his mom moved in. I head down to the basement – Kurt's room, I remind myself – and play a few rounds against him. He isn't aggressive enough, so I usually end up winning.

"No fair," Kurt pouts, "You're already in hockey."

"They're nothing alike," I say smugly. "I'm just a harder hitter than you."

"At least I can kick better," he retorts. He sets the puck aside and moves away from the game table. "And I bet I can dance better. Ever played DDR?"

"Dance Dance Revolution?" I say, a questioning frown on my face. "Not really, no. It's a bunch of eye-foot coordination, isn't it?"

"Yup," he says, dragging out a soft mat with arrows on it and plugging it into an old PS2. "And I bet I can totally whoop your ass at it."

"We'll see, fairy," I reply, but it's more a term of endearment than anything.

And it's on.

The two mats slip and slide a little on the carpet as we duke it out to some techno song I don't recognize, something singing in Japanese or Korean or some shit. It's catchy, and I almost want to dance freestyle, but I'm forced to follow the pattern of arrows showing up on the TV screen. I know how the game works, and Kurt even went easy on me, choosing all of the beginner-level selections, but that doesn't help me none.

I curse out of frustration as I keep losing. I hate losing. I'm not used to losing. I grow angry and at one point stop in the middle of the fifth song and kick the damn mat aside, making its plug fly out of the PS2.

"Jeez! Watch it, Karofsky," Kurt hisses, reverted back to calling me by my last name. "Don't get so pissy, it's just a dancing game."

I make a scoffing noise and fold my arms over my chest, choosing to ignore the line of sweat on my forehead. I sit down on a footrest. I'm _not_ sulking; I'm just… taking a break.

Kurt pauses the game by stepping on a control on the mat and rolls his eyes as he paces over to me. Placing a hand on his hip (dammit, why does he have to be like such a damn girl all the time?), he gives me this _look._ "Come on. Get up. Let me show you how to do it right, or else this won't be any fun."

"I don't want your help. And I don't care for this game. Dancing 's not my thing." I retort a tad grumpily.

"You're just being a stubborn, sore loser," Kurt sniffs, and offers me his hand to yank me to my feet. I blink at it for a minute; take his hand? Does he really expect me to take his hand? I feel my face flush and I swallow the sensation down. It's stupid. _He's_ stupid. And I refuse to let him help me up, to bring his slender, pale fingers into my grasp –

Rolling his eyes again, Kurt bends down and grabs my elbow. "Hey!" I snap, but he ignores me. He hauls me to my feet and drags me over to the mat still left plugged in.

"Here," he states firmly, his hands barely brushing my hips as he guides my feet with a shove of his own feet. "Stand in the center first. Keep your eye on the string of arrows at the top. This is a slow song, so just wait for it. Feel the timing."

And he's standing right behind me, observing, guiding, and I feel like an idiot because he's instructing me like I am one. But g'dammit, he's so close that I can smell him, and just barely feel his body heat on my bare forearms, and as the pace of the song picks up slightly and I'm getting the hang of it, I nearly go insane when he giggles airily at my clumsy attempts, and then actually _applauds _a couple times, praising me.

I hate how much I like him. It disturbs me that I'm so fucking happy right now. I should be worrying about my parents' divorce, and how my mom's faring right now, and a million other things, and yet all I can seem to focus on is Kurt fucking Hummel.

When the song is over, I actually have a decent score. Kurt approves. "Nicely done!" he says, giving me a light, congratulatory smack between the shoulder blades. "Now was that so hard?"

"No," I sigh, reluctant to admit how much fun it truly was. I glance over at my abused mat. "But now that I'm better at it, I want to verse you again."

"Sure thing."

And the next thing I know, things are happening too quickly for my tastes.

We're in the middle of a song, our feet tapping wildly on the mats, when my knee twists painfully and my leg jerks the mat out from under me, sliding me across the carpet. I fall, and I know it's going to be _bad._

Because I'm falling sideways, to my _right,_ and Kurt is on my right and I can hear him squeaking in surprise and I try to turn and catch myself on something, but I only end up tugging on a throw blanket tossed onto a chair, and it lands over my back the same moment I crash onto my hands and knees, one of my legs between Kurt's and my hands on the floor above his shoulders and we're both in too much pain, too _frozen_, to move for a full moment.

I'm panting slightly, and as I open my eyes, I find Kurt staring back at me. But he doesn't look like he did that day in the locker room; his mouth is agape in surprise, it's true, but his eyelids are slipping to half-mast and his brows are calm and while his hands are once again at his chest, he doesn't seem to be fearful.

"Sorry," I mutter, and I can feel his breath hitting me in the face. I can move again, my brain informs me, but I don't want to move. I have Kurt pinned. He's _right here,_ and _beneath me_, no less. So really, I'm not very sorry.

"Don't… worry about it," he whispers, and he's looking at me, searching my eyes for something. A ghost of a smile graces his lips. "Well, isn't this a compromising position?" he murmurs quietly.

A wolfish grin consumes my face. "It is. It was on accident, but _I like it_."

Kurt swallows, but his expression softens, which means it's not because he thinks I'll hurt him. He knows by now that I won't lay a hand on him that way any longer. And by how predatory I sound, and by how he's reacting, I feel like it's okay to give into my other urges for once.

Slowly so not to startle him, I lean down. He doesn't move. He doesn't forcefully push me away, he doesn't scramble to his feet; he doesn't budge an inch whatsoever. I watch as his eyes close, and his chin tilts up. My mind is racing; what's he thinking? Will he actually let me kiss him this time? Does he actually _want_ me, even just a bit, like the way I want him?

My lips make contact with his just as my eyes close. It's tender, gentle. Careful. I move my mouth over his, molding my lips around his lips, trying to place, displace, and place them again with selective precision. I'm not crushing everything into one kiss like last time. I'm trying to memorize his mouth this time, to give him a better kiss.

And I nearly moan when he kisses me back, his lips full and pliant and reacting in a way that sends spikes of energy down my body.

His hands come up and grip themselves behind my neck, and I can feel him struggling to breathe through his nose. I ease up a bit, giving him time to catch his breath. I open my eyes, but he keeps his closed. Then he's the one to start this time, kissing me with his tongue and lips to the point where I'm left just as breathless, returning the wet kiss with just as much fervor.

I can't help it. A small moan escapes me; this is all I've dreamed about for a long while, and all I've thought about doing ever since our argument in the locker room.

The moan is a mistake, however. It shatters the pleasant silence between us, and seems to wake Kurt up. He snaps out of his daze and breaks our kissing with a little gasp.

"What… what are we doing?"

"I don't know," I grumble in response and force myself off of him (as reluctant as I am to move). I look away, running a hand through my hair. I shake my head and notice in my peripheral vision that Kurt only propped himself up on his elbows. He didn't bother to stand, like I am.

"I don't want to screw everything up," Kurt begins, staring at me, but I continue busying my sight with our surroundings instead of his face. "We just got on decent terms with one another."

"I know."

"And you're going through so much, the last thing you need is more confusion –"

"I know!"

"And I know you like me, it's obvious, but we shouldn't – I mean, especially when my parents and Finn are away –"

"G'dammit, Hummel, I _know_!" I shout, my hands balled into fists at my sides. I send him a look, and he looks afraid now. He clumsily (a word I wouldn't normally associate with him, but he _is_ in this moment) gets to his feet and stares at me, his eyes wide and a question forming on his lips, but I'm not sure I want to hear it.

"Dave –"

"I should've never come here. I should've told my mom I could take my chances staying at Mam-maw Miriam's. This isn't – I didn't mean –" and I curse under my breath a string of swear words I rarely use all at once. Kurt is suddenly touching my arm, but I whip my arm back and turn on my heel, stomping up the stairs to his door. He didn't want that kiss, and I knew it deep down. He was probably picturing that prep school guy, or was just caught up in the moment or something. He doesn't like me the way I like him, and I fucking _know _it.

"Dave, wait!" Kurt calls, jogging up the stairs after me. I have his front door open, but he comes and slams it shut before I can even get a foot in. "Dammit, you stubborn ox! I said _wait!"_

I growl at him. "So I'm an ox now, am I?"

"You sure act like one! Aggressive, strong, a bully, a hard-worker when it comes to physical activities such as sports; and all with a 'Look at me, I'm so tough' attitude!"

"Well God, don't hold back or sugarcoat it or anything," I snap back, taking a threatening step closer to him.

He groans in frustration, his hands flying up into the air. "Uhhg! This is _precisely_ why I was afraid this relationship wouldn't work. We're nothing alike, and you have _such _anger issues! One thing goes wrong, and you take it out on whoever's nearby!"

I poke him in the chest. "Like you're one to talk, Hummel! You have severe _bitch_ issues, always spazzing out! You're _yelling _at me right now!"

"And you're yelling _back_, you ignoramus! Why can't you just be _civil?_"

I snort and lean my weight mostly on one foot. "Not with you, I can't. Not for very long. Something about you always sets me off."

"Well, the feeling is mutual," he retorts, his arms crossing. He shakes his head at me. Then, suddenly, he's sighing and looking at the ground, or his arms, I can't tell which. He mutters, "Why do I have to try so hard? Why can't you just accept what happens and just _stay?_"

My browns come together. "You… actually want me to stay?" I had only started to leave because I thought he regretted having me here, and that he wanted me to go.

"_Yes,_ dumbass," he says, the start of a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. He looks up at me and takes a step closer, his arms falling. "You're still my friend. You're stuck with me."

I glance at something off to my left. "Friend?" I repeat dumbly. "What sort of friends kiss?"

He actually considers the question. I stiffen and turn to look back at him when I feel his hand on my face. "I'm not sure. Our kind, I guess?" and he lifts himself up an inch to give me a peck on the chin. I feel my face grow hot. Does he even know how attracted I am to him? Does he even _care?_ After a pause as he steps back, he nods his head in the direction of the basement. "Now, should we finish our round of DDR or not?"

And I'm amazed by how simply Kurt Hummel can return to semi-normalcy.

_End Part IX: Different._


	10. Residue

**A/N: OMG THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVING SUPPORT. Really! I have 32 alerts on this story, 10 favorites, and the last time I checked, 17 reviews! Thank you, truly. And let me just say that I honestly have no plot for this story, I'm simply going with the flow of whatever my brain/fingers decide to write. I apologize for any mistakes I've made; I know at times some moments are OOC, but hey, this is fanfiction and it's DAMN FUN.**

**Anyway, without further delay, here's some more Kurve/Karomel/Kurtofsky for ya.  
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_Part X: Residue_

_.K U R T._

I don't know what overcame me.

Even now, as I hear Dave lightly snoring on the couch and I'm lying in my bed, staring up at a dark ceiling, I can't help but go over the scene repeatedly in my mind's eyes, trying to sort out the ever-persistent question of _why._

Why did I let him kiss me? Why didn't I move away? Why did I kiss him back? Why did I male him stop? Why did I open my mouth and question it anyway? Why didn't I let him walk away?

…Why do I get the feeling that I'm falling for him?

I already know that he likes me. He might even be falling in love with me without realizing it. Then again, this could only be wishful thinking on my behalf.

But why, then, is it wishful thinking? Do I _want_ him to love me, to want me? Why does the thought of being desired so intriguing to me, even if it's coming from someone like _him?_

I shake my head and, for the sixth time (yes, I'm counting), I roll over onto my side. I sigh heavily through my nose and close my eyes. I can't sleep. I keep thinking thoughts I would rather not think about.

Like how wonderful he smelled, just like his jacket. And how strangely _secure_ I felt under his body and his gaze. How lovely his lips felt, hungry but controlled, and how I know it was for my sake, and how it's because the circumstances were different than our confrontation in the locker room.

A shudder runs though me, and I open my eyes halfway to touch my fingertips to my lips. I scrunch my legs up close to my body and pinch the bridge of my nose. I need to stop this. This is wrong on _so_ many levels.

But it won't leave me alone. As much as I try to shake it, I can't. The thought – the _feeling_ – that I'm beginning to like Dave as _more than a friend_ is exasperatingly relentless.

I get up from my warm cocoon to get a drink of water from the fridge upstairs. Finn ended up sleeping over at one of his friend's houses (and yes, I made sure it wasn't Rachel's. Her dads wouldn't be kosher with that anyhow). As I come back downstairs, I hesitate getting back into bed. I pivot and find myself crossing the room to hover in front of Dave.

In sleep, all of the worry and anger and other stress lines are relaxed on his face. He's… actually handsome, without all of that stuff clouding his facial features. And momentarily I'm reminded of how he's actually pretty handsome underneath his tasteless clothes, like I caught a glimpse of when he stretched after watching Repo yesterday.

Cautiously, and with shaking fingers, I reach out to brush my hand across his forehead. He's warm. And I realize all too quickly that I can't fight my obnoxious feelings. _I like him._

I wonder: could we be a couple? Could we actually work? It might take time and plenty of exasperation, but could we do it?

I want to ask him. I want to talk to him about trying a date; just one. One date, and if I'm wrong, we can go back to being no-longer-enemies/semi-friends.

I only hope that, when I ask, he doesn't think I'm pulling his leg. I pray that he isn't so insecure about himself that he thinks I'm lying, being a bitch again, and messing with his head. Because I'm honestly not. After tonight, I wouldn't do that to him.

I retreat back to my bed and snuggle under the covers, my mind finally at ease for some reason. Go figure.

Except just before I drift off to sleep, a soft, muffled murmur reaches my ears. I turn bright red when I realize it's my own name falling from Dave's lips.

xXx

_.D A V E._

I wake from a restful sleep, my mind a content black blank as to what I've dreamed. I sit up, stretch, and loosen my stiff muscles. Huh, that's weird. I don't get cramps like these in my own bed. Sleeping on couches or floors usually tenses me up.

I yawn loudly, lazily, and scratch at the stubble on my jaw. I blink a few times, rubbing the crust out of my eyes, and suddenly remember where I am.

I'm tense because I _did_ sleep on a couch, and I slept on the couch in _Kurt Hummel's_ room in _his_ house.

I bolt upright, onto my feet. I glance over at Kurt, and find him still slumbering. I blink. He looks… _cute._ He's curled up around a body pillow on one side, his head nestled near one shoulder, and his lips are parted as he breathes deeply in and out.

I smile vaguely, despite myself, and head upstairs to the bathroom. I go pee, change into day clothes, add fresh deodorant, and splash my face with some hand soap and water. Dabbing my face dry, I decide to help myself to some orange juice in the kitchen, not caring if it's considered intruding. I even go over to the TV and flick it on, selecting a channel at random.

All before Kurt wakes up.

When he finally rolls out of bed, I'm ten minutes into a re-run episode of Mythbusters. I bite back a snicker when I note his disheveled appearance, so unlike how he looks at school. His hair is lacking gel and looking as soft as a girl's, and is flipped cutely over his forehead and ruffled on the side he slept on. His clothes hang off his frame, and he's in a dark and light blue striped robe that's a hair too large for him.

"G'morning," I greet, surprised that I'm up before him. I always pictured him and the 'bright and early, rise and shine!' type. As for me, most people think I like to sleep the day away, but frankly, sleeping too long makes me feel scruffy and hazy and easily irritated, so I usually wake up as soon as my bladder calls.

"Good morning," Kurt returns groggily. He starts making coffee. "Want some?"

"Yeah," I answer casually. "Thanks."

He nods with a hum, and turns back to his task. "When I checked my phone this morning –"

"You check your phone for messages as soon as you wake up?" I say, cracking up. I should've known.

He shrugs off my teasing. "Anyway, when I checked it, there was a text from Carole. She said that she and my dad would be coming home at about two o'clock today. It's ten now. When do you want to leave?"

I ponder that for a second. I shrug. "Before noon, probably. I want to see what's going on with my own folks, and I really don't want to eat lunch here; I'll end up eating all your food." I pat my stomach. "A hockey and football player, you know."

"Right," he snorts in agreement, a smile playing at his mouth. I advert my eyes from his lips. I'm reminded too soon of last night, and how he actually kissed me back.

Eventually the coffee is finished, and we're sipping and chatting idly, nothing of great importance. The hour passes, and Kurt suddenly glances down at his hands. "I really need to shower."

"Oh. I'll leave soon, then. Just give me time to pack up."

"Okay. But, um, Dave?"

"Yeah?" I say, turning back around. I had been headed for the basement for my duffel bag.

"Do you… Would you like to get together again next weekend? Like, to go see a movie or something, maybe get a bite to eat?" he poses, and his face is tinted pink, but he's looking directly at me, dead serious.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a couple failing seconds. "…Is that… Are you asking me out, Hummel?" I say, floored. "'Cause if this is some sort of joke –"

"No, no!" he says instantly, getting up from the kitchen table and gripping the back of his chair tightly. "Please don't think that. I was afraid you would. No, I'm not saying it in jest, or poking fun at your feelings. I mean it." He pauses, unsure of himself, which is new. He looks at me coyly. "Isn't a chance to go on one date with me something you've wanted for a while?"

Of course it is. It's one of my secret fantasies, something I've thought about but never thought possible. That is, until now, I suppose. I blink and shake my head subtly. "Uh," I stutter, trying to remember how my tongue, lips, and vocal cords work together to form sounds, words, and sentences. "No. I've never thought that," I deny, "But if it's a date you want, I guess I'll do it. It just has to be someplace not too many McKinley kids go to. I don't want to be out as a… yet." _Way to sound smooth, David. Completely skipping over the one word you've said for years_ – gay – _and being a total chicken, _I think. I want to hit myself. But I can't let him know just how eager I am, just how _ready_ I am to leap at the chance. But my fear of being ridiculed is clear enough.

One of Kurt's dimpled half-smiles makes its way onto his face. "Good. And I understand. We can even go out of our way to the next town over, if you're so paranoid."

I lift my chin defiantly. "I'm not paranoid. I'm just… not ready, that's all."

He laughs lightly. "Okay then. Friday?"

I nod. "Friday."

And I gather my things and leave, Kurt waving at me as he shuts the door behind me.

And only when I'm alone in my car, driving back to my grandmother's, that I let out the loudest "FUCK YES!" and make the biggest fist-pump of my life.

_End Part X: Residue._

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**A/N: BTW, the next chapter is called, 'Repercussions.' Any thoughts on what you think will happen? I love hearing predictions! You never know if you'll be right, or if I'll change my mind and use your idea since I might like it so much. (And if I DO use your idea, I will TOTALLY give you credit. No worries. ;D )**_  
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	11. Repercussions

**A/N: Here's the next installment! Enjoy! And look at the bottom when you're done, because there's a little bonus waiting for ya. ;D**

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_Part XI: Repercussions_

_.K U R T._

When my dad and Carole come home, they're all smiles and hugs. Finn and I greet them warmly, and I even convinced Finn to help me make a small bunt cake for them for when they got back. It's nothing special; 7Up cake, a real basic recipe. But my dad devours it, proclaiming how yummy it is, and Carole pats me on the shoulder, laughing and saying that I might outdo her when it comes to being the baker of the household.

It feels so wonderful to have Carole as a stepmom. She's sweet and patient and keeps my goofy father in line. And she seems to know just what's on my mind, which is how a mother should be.

"Kurt, you seem awfully cheerful," she hints slyly. "Did something good happen while we were gone?"

Two things flash into my mind at once: first of all, that Finn and I have to face them about the scrimmage at school, finally confessing its occurrence. And second of all, that I kind of have my first date with a guy this Friday.

I force a smile. "Um. Well. A good and a bad thing, actually. Could you sit down? And Finn, can you fetch my father?" I say, turning to look at him. He has his fork raised to his mouth, about to consume another bite of cake when he notices the look in my eyes and thinks twice about continuing. He sets his fork and plate down on the table and nods his head.

In moments, Finn and I are standing awkwardly before our parents. "Should I start?" Finn wants to know.

I shake my head. This is my deal. And I'm both thankful and regretful to making my bruises heal so quickly, because proof is proof. I let out a strangled breath. "So. Dad, Carole. Right after you guys left, I… well, I was cornered outside the school by some of those bullies. A fight broke out."

"Oh my God! Are you okay, Kurt?" Carole says, leaping off the couch.

"Son, why didn't you tell us?" my father frowns, but he's also concerned. He's standing as well.

I wince. "I'm fine now, honest. I just didn't want to spoil your honeymoon. The last thing you need is more teen drama." I wave their concerns aside. "Besides, you didn't let me finish. During the fight, one of the bullies whose heart wasn't in it to begin with had a change of heart entirely and went to get help. He found Puck and Finn, and the three of them warded off the thugs. Admittedly, I got a little banged up and fainted, but the guy who got Finn and Puck took me to the nurse's office. So he helped me. He used to harass me, but he helped me," I say desperately, trying to make them see that Dave's changed before I eventually tell them about my date and who it's with.

"Who was it?" my dad is saying between clenched teeth. I can tell he's trying his hardest not to explode, not to call the school or the police for revenge. I know that he's aware of the reason _why _I was assaulted. It's always the same reason.

"Who? The thugs? Because I didn't recognize all of them except maybe Azimio –" I begin.

My dad shakes his head. "No. The boy who helped you."

"That was Karofsky," Finn says, finally getting a word in. "He used to bully Kurt all the time, maybe even the worst. But since he saw Kurt get so beat up, and saw how serious things got, he's been real cool. He's even come over a couple times."

I pivot to stare at Finn. How does he know? – Oh, I forgot: Dave left his jacket. He forgot to take it back after our sleep over. And besides that, Finn knows that I had a friend over yesterday.

"Is that so?" my father mutters, most likely torn between giving Dave a piece of his mind and thanking him. "Well. Change of heart or not, he still hurt my boy –"

"No, he didn't," Finn and I say at the same time. We exchange curious glances – sibling telepathy already? – and I finish, "He really didn't even lay a hand on me. He looked… confused. And like he didn't want to be doing it anymore. And he hasn't done anything to hurt me since."

He's gotten angry with me, sure, but it's true. He hasn't injured me in the least.

My dad frowns and hums in thought. Carole looks between us, and finally makes up her mind to smile. She touches my shoulder. "Well. Thanks for telling us, you two. Secrets aren't good for a new family. And I'm glad that things worked out. Did the abusers get in trouble?"

Finn answers this one for me. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. It was sweet justice when some of them got suspended or expelled." And he's grinning darkly. It's not a look that suits him.

"I'm glad," Carole says, and she looks to my dad. "How are you feeling about all this, honey?"

He exhales loudly and lifts his cap to run his hand over his head. "I feel like I need to never leave again. It'll just about kill me if I'm not here and something like this happens again."

I laugh weakly, and Finn even offers a breathless chuckle. Then we're all standing there in an awkward silence.

I break it with a quick, "Yeah, so, I guess you guys won't care if I go on a date on Friday, right?"

I spoke so fast that the three of them gape at me for a minute, trying to process the words. Finn is the first to react. "Wait, what? Dude, when did this happen? Is it with that Blaine guy, the one from Dalton?"

I flinch a little. "Um. No…"

"Then who is it, son?" my dad requests mildly, but I can see a spark of something in his eyes.

"Er… Dave?" I say quietly, and Finn's eyes are bulging out of his skull.

"Who?" our parents question in unison.

I laugh humorlessly. "Dave Karofsky."

"Hold on. Isn't that who Finn said helped you? One of the bullies?" my dad is saying, and he's slowly growing tense. Practically _seething. _

"Y-yes?" I stutter, shrinking back some. "But like I said, he's okay now; he only picked on me because he was gay and didn't know what to do about it, and –"

"How can you even _say _that?" my dad hollers, his voice escalating with his word. He's livid, and Finn and I are terrified. "This guy – Dave, was it? – harasses you for _years, _doing all sorts of cruel things to you, calling you _names, _and you're trying to tell me that it was his elementary way of expressing that he _likes _you, and that he's now trying to _date _you? I'm sorry, Kurt, I love you and you're my son, but how am I supposed to see things your way this time? It doesn't add up. It sounds pretty damn masochistic if you ask me."

"Burt…" Carole murmurs, laying her hand on his forearm to steady him. "Please, I love how protective you are of your baby, but this might not be the time to be that way. Kurt must have his reasons, and I'm sure this Dave isn't nearly as bad as he seems. I trust Kurt's judgments; he knows not to associate with what's bad for him. And who knows? Maybe being with Kurt will change this boy and help him come to terms with himself and his sexuality. This could be a good thing," she says soothingly, and at the moment, I'm praising the God I barely believe in for sending this woman into our family. She's an angel.

Finn looks uncomfortable. "If it's any, you know, consolation… You could meet Karofsky. Talk to him and stuff. See if you'll let Kurt see him."

I shoot Finn a look; does he realize that doing so could go horribly wrong?

My dad ponders this. Soon he's nodding his head. "Yeah, all right. Let me meet the jerk and see if he's truly changed." And then he's leaving, and I'm left standing between Finn and Carole.

There's a pause in everyone's actions and words as a thick silence fills in the gap of where my father had been part of the conversation.

"…I think that went rather well," Carole says brightly, shattering the blank moment.

I simply hang my head.

xXx

_.D A V E._

When I return to my grandma's on Sunday, I come home to an empty house. It feels spooky when it's so barren; her house should have people in it. Namely her, but lately there's also been me and my mom, and now no one's here.

A tad shaken (not that I would ever let anyone know how much I detest being left alone with myself), I reach for the landline phone and dial my mom's cell number. I'd use my own cell, but it needs charging and I'd rather let my mom see the number on the caller ID and realize that I'm back here safely.

It rings once, twice, and then my mother's voice emerges through the dial tone. "Dave!" she says as if she had scrambled around to get to her phone, "You're back at Mom's?"

"Yeah," I say. "But where are you two?"

I can hear her sigh into the receiver. "We're… at home. Your father's house. He just left in a huff, but we're trying to sort things out. I told him that I was going to divorce him, and that I'm taking the house. He slapped me and left."

"Mom…"

She waves it aside with a soft, "Mm-nn," telling me not to worry, but I _am_. I hate it when my dad strikes her like that. It makes me burn with anger so intense inside that I want to scream.

I growl, "I swear, if I see him, I'm giving him a piece of my fist –"

"Oh, Dave, don't!" my mother cries, and I can hear the tears in her voice when it wavers on my name. "Please. He's your father, and even if you're mad at him and even though I'm leaving him, you still have to respect that. Just leave it to the adults, okay? We'll handle things."

"Adults?" I echo. I scowl at the phone and switch ears as I turn and kick at a pile of text books I left on the floor. My toe throbs in pain since I'm not wearing shoes, but I ignore it. "I'm seventeen! I'm nearly eighteen, and that's an adult. At the moment, I feel more mature than my fucking _father, _since I at least have the _decency _to know when not to hit somebody and storm out!" I'm yelling, and I know that doesn't make her feel any better, but damn it all, I'm _pissed._

"Dave, it was just a little slap. And he'll be back, and we'll sort things out. Please don't be angry…" my mother is mumbling through her tears, trying to calm me down. "Don't… don't do anything rash, okay, sweetie?"

"Rash? Rash would be to go out in my car and search for the bastard. I'm not an idiot, Mom; I know that I would get my ass kicked. He still hates me for being gay, and that's what started this whole mess! Why aren't _you _angry with _me _for sabotaging your marriage? Why aren't _I _getting slapped instead?" I say, my voice breaking at the end. I feel hot, furious tears singe my eyes, but I rub them away with as much pressure as it takes from keeping them from falling.

My mother is silent for a minute, the only sound being her sniffles. Then: "Dave, that's not true. Y-you didn't sabotage our marriage. I love you just the way you are, so please… d-don't beat yourself up for this. This has been progressing over a l-long period of time. Little problems that… that your father and I just couldn't fix."

I shrug, still on edge, but let her finish talking. I'm not sure I believe every word. She's too polite to say whether or not I'm a factor in this, even though I know I am. This isn't a coincidence that this is happening after I shouted out my sexuality to them during a heated moment. I _know_ that, and she can't fucking tell me otherwise, denying everything.

"Davey? This is Granny. Hey, listen to your mama, and believe her when she tells you that this isn't you. Don't ever think that this is because of you. All kids beat themselves up over divorces, but the truth is, it's always a relationship problem between the parents that's usually been accumulating over the years. Okay?" my grandma says in her frail old-lady voice, but there is a certain strength and truth backing up her words that makes me actually pay attention and maybe trust what she's saying.

"Okay, Mam-maw," I answer at length, my voice softer.

I can hear a smile in her voice as she says in return, "All right, hun. Now here's your mother again."

And I spend the next half hour calming my mom down on the phone while she weeps, and making empty promises and sending hopeful words about the future. She clings to each phrase like a drowning woman to a raft in a sea of misery. I know I did something right when I hang up and she isn't crying any more.

I hate bullshit like this. I wish it would all up and vanish.

But as bad as this seems, I keep reminding myself that _it gets better. _It's a phrase I heard regarding gays who were being abused because of what gender they prefer, but I realize that the same can apply to everything about everything.

I remind myself that it's okay if I have all this bad shit piling up on my plate now; because I'll get passed it, people will get over it, and hey, I just so happen to have a date this coming Friday.

And I take note in the back of my mind that for some reason, I actually have a positive outlook on life, as opposed to how I normally used to see things.

…Wonder if Hummel's the cause of it.

Could be.

_End Part XI: Repercussions._

* * *

**A/N: SHAMELESS SELF-PLUG AHEAD.  
**

**I made a little comic to poke fun at Chris Colfer and Max Adler and how weird it must have been preparing for that kiss scene back in 2x06. The idea came to me something like this...**

**#Chris reads the script for NBK and an idea hits him when he comes to the kiss scene. He goes out in search of his fellow actor, Max Adler.#**

**Chris: Hey Max!**

**Max: Huh? ...Oh, hi, Chris. What's up?**

**Chris: I was just reading the new script and I noticed that we have a big kiss scene we have to do. And I was wondering... do you want to practice it? It seems important to the episode, so I think we should make it as good as we can. So, want to?**

**Max: #hesitates# #blushes slightly# Um... okay, I guess. Sure.**

**#one back-and-forth session of dialogue later...#**

**Max: ... #notices something# #breaks the kiss# Um, Chris?**

**Chris: Yeah~?**

**Max: ...It says in the script that you're not supposed to kiss me back.**

**Chris: Does it~?**

**Max: #blushing# Yeah. So why are you?**

**Chris: #grinning# My mistake. Sorry. Let's try again~? #wink#**

**Max: ...**

**Chris: Heeheehee~**

**END.**

**Here's a link to the comic I made (please remove spaces):** poetic-kitsune. deviantart. com/art/Not-Supposed-To-Kiss-Back-187125793

**See you guys next chapter~! And please don't forget to leave a review! I'm a (not-so-secret) feedback whore, after all. :D**


	12. Transmuted

**A/N: THERE WILL ONLY BE TWO MORE CHAPTERS, parts 13 and 14, 14 being the epilogue. Hopefully this will all be written and posted before 2x08. I'm going to try, anyhow. D:**

**

* * *

**

_Part XII: Transmuted_

_.D A V E._

The school week whip by in a blur, most likely due to my lack of care about what happens during it. I wake up, attend school, very subtly flirt with Kurt (another wink sent, another playful shove that he returns, another shared laugh), and go home to my grandma's to get the latest news about what my parents are up to. My mom goes to work and comes back to my grandma's each night, but not before having some sort of run-in with my dad. And the cycle repeats over and over until it's Friday.

On Friday, Kurt taps me on the shoulder unexpectedly in the hall. I know it's him immediately by his smell. I turn and look at him, and I notice that he's wearing my letterman jacket. I blink, and can't prevent the laugh that bursts from my throat when I realize how silly it is, hanging off of him like that. Vaguely, I get a little scared, wondering if anybody knows that the jock who owns it is me (since the jacket is obviously not his). I hope not.

He frowns at my laughter, looking offended. "I kept forgetting to give it back since you left it, and decided I would only remember if I wore it," he says defensively. "And I… wanted to warn you that tonight my dad wants to meet you before we head off." He says this lowly, so not to be heard by any passersby. I secretly thank him for that. "He kinda… knows who you are. As in, he knows that you used to insistently hassle me, and he's reluctant for us to…" he drifts off. "Anyway, just a warning. Be on your best behavior; watch your temper!"

I click my tongue. "You got nothing to worry 'bout, Hummel." And I yank my jacket off of him, sending him twisting, nearly spinning. I stabilize him with one hand to his shoulder. As I loosen my grip, I send him a short smirk. He returns it with a half-smile of his own prior to turning and leaving.

As he walks away, he says casually, "See you in French, Karofsky."

And I almost find it amusing how we still refer to one another by our last names in public to uphold appearances, even though everybody knows without saying so that Kurt and I are on a different level now.

xXx

_.K U R T._

When it get home from school, I take another shower to wash off the grime of the school day. Facing my blurry reflection and wiping condensation from the mirror, I look myself over. My nudity is kept modest by merely a towel, and I frown at my pale – but thankfully tone – skin. I have a dancer's body: lean, fit, but not at all muscular. I sigh, running a hand through my wet hair. I don't feel like putting gel back in it. Instead, I slather a palm-sized dollop of conditioning mousse in my hair and muss the locks, giving my hair a careless-but-still-stylish appearance.

I try not to rush as I put on my lotion and deodorant, and my other more girly products. I never felt foolish before, but suddenly I do. It might be because of _who_ I'm going out with: my polar opposite, someone athletic and a non-Glee-member and a closet gay (aside form his immediate family) and beefy and utterly masculine. I'm too feminine and gleeky in comparison. I feel silly.

But aren't dates supposed to be like that? In all of the teen dramas and novels I've read, one of the main characters always feels a little stupid and nervous for their first date with someone. So this is normal, right?

Who am I kidding? Of course this isn't normal. I'm having my ex-bully meet my father and we're a same-gender couple and we're not even going somewhere in town because of my date's phobias.

This is so messed up.

I sigh as I slip into my clothes, the stickiness of sweat and lotion and the lingering steam of the bathroom making my skinny jeans especially difficult to put on. I manage somehow, the bright canary yellow with stylish worn patches and holes complimenting my dark grey shirt with swirling black and grey and _flour de lis_ patterns, paired with a coordinating black and grey cloth scarf. I select a pair of black shoes and slide into them, finally turning back to the mirror to admire myself.

Damn, I look cute! Mercedes would approve.

As I trot downstairs, I'm met by my father in the kitchen.

"Evening, son," he mutters around a slurp of milk. "Ready for your date?"

"Only if you're prepared to meet him," I counter. I can feel butterflies flutter in my stomach at the thought. Dear Lady Gaga, I hope this doesn't turn into a disaster.

I grab a tiny clementine from the fridge and peel it, popping a wedge into my mouth. A burst of cold, sweet-tart orangeness covers my tongue. I smile and add another. It's about an hour until Dave has to pick me up. And suddenly I feel like I have way too much time to kill.

"The computer isn't being used," my dad offers, somehow sensing my sense of boredom. He turns and heads off to the living room for some TV. Carole isn't home from work yet, it seems, so he's just as bored.

I log onto the computer and idly check my Facebook (how I wish I weren't so addicted to this damn place; I should have never gotten one) and e-mail, and for a short while, browse DeviantART. I envy all of the amazing artists on there; I can't draw worth shit.

The idea breezes into my head to find Finn's PSP and complete more of Birth By Sleep to waste my extra time, but I shrug off the notion and decide to head to my room to sing along to some music instead. I never get tired of singing.

xXx

I'm halfway through performing a number from Hairspray in front of my mirror when I open my eyes following a long note to find someone leaning against the basement stairs, a broad smile on their face as they watch me.

I immediately shut up. I make a squeaking noise I didn't know I was capable of and turn off the music. "Um… hi," I say, eying my unanticipated visitor.

He chuckles and leans off of the stairs. "You know, I never heard you sing by yourself before. You're really amazing, Kurt."

I flush and mindlessly adjust my scarf. "Yeah, well…"

"Come on," he says, still smiling. "I already met your dad. We had a full conversation, if you can believe it. We talked for at least fifteen minutes, and he seems to be okay with me. He says that I remind him a bit of himself." And he makes a weird face, as if debating on whether or not this is a good thing.

I laugh and link my arm with his as we step up the basement stairs. "I'm glad. And I feel awful for not being there to back you up. It must have been uncomfortable."

"Pfft," Dave replies, "Are you kidding? It was fucking _awkward _as _Hell._ You dad laid into me, and then I defended myself, and said some things I may or may not regret, but they ended up being just the right things to say, and in the end, he let out this deep chortle and told me to go spy on you because you were singing and, 'any kid who's interested in my boy needs to know how well he sings first.' Some sort of rule, I guess."

And we're at the front door now, my father smirking behind us. I pretend not to notice him. I unlatch myself from Dave's arm and step out into the chilly night air.

It's raining lightly, and there's the distant rumble of thunder on occasion. Dave lifts one half of his letterman jacket – does he ever take that thing off, aside from the days he left it at my house? – and it acts as a wing-like umbrella over me. I huddle into the concave opening of his jacket, sucking in his warmth and shielding myself from the drizzle. His face is relaxed, but there's a smile in my friend's (boyfriend's?) eyes.

"So, where are we headed?" I ask as I plop down in the passenger seat of his truck. Seconds later, he piles into the driver's seat.

"Do you like sea food?" he asks, revving the engine.

"Love it," I respond with a grin. "Especially crab legs."

"Good. Red Lobster it is, then," he states. The car pulls out of the driveway, and soon we're on our way.

And it hits me with sudden ferocity that this is really happening. Out of all of the people in the world – Finn (my old crush), Blaine (my newer crush), or hell, even Sam (who's just really cute) – I'm on a date with my previous enemy. The thought strikes me hard, and I feel a sense of imbalance, my equilibrium lost for a failing moment. I feel as though I'm falling, and I catch myself by bracing an arm on the armrest inside of the passenger door.

"Kurt?" Dave asks, glancing quickly from the road to me, and back at the road again. "Are you okay?"

His concern is almost as startling. How long has it been since that fight? About two weeks? More, less? I can't even begin to fathom time all of a sudden. And then there's this pressing urge in the back of my mind, nagging at my conscious mind, making my fingertips hum. I bring my hands into fists in my lap to quell the weird sensation.

The sensation that I'm totally at ease with this, the sensation that I'm excited beyond belief, and the sensation that I really want this date to go well because _I don't want this back-and-forth, love/hate relationship to end. _

Somehow, I know that I would have been bored had I dated Blaine. He's too much of a gentleman, too perfect, too mellow. Had I dated him, I get the notion that I wouldn't have felt wanted, wouldn't have been excited with blood rushing through my veins, wouldn't have felt the electricity of tension, sexual or otherwise.

But I'm oddly finding a few of those things even now, in the dead silence of this lumbering vehicle.

I cock my head slightly to the left, peering over at Dave. He looks blank, serious, while he drives. A smile plays on my lips. He's not nearly a quarter as menacing as I used to think him to be. He's like a dog: his bark is worse than his bite. The intimidation had all been a rouse, and he's shed it in front of me to reveal his true colors. And I like it.

Without thinking, I reach over and touch his hand nearest me on the steering wheel. The truck jolts to the right for a moment as he sharply jerks in surprise. But soon he's steady again, and a smile is on his mouth, breaking the concentrated stare. He glances at me quickly, and I dare to rub the backside of his hand with my thumb, making his smile grow broader as he returns his attention once again to his driving.

"What's this, all of a sudden?" he says curiously, almost suspiciously. Me? Up to something? Never.

My response tumbles out of my mouth without a second thought. "I'm just glad to be doing this, that's all," I say simply, removing my hand. My palm grows cold, and I clench my fist again to make the warmth last.

He shakes his head, eyes still on the streets. "Well, those are words I never expected to hear," he replies at length, and he reaches, without looking, for the stereo. He flips it on and selects a rock station of some sort.

"I bet not," I laugh airily. "I don't think I ever expected to say them to you. But it's true. You've changed, I've changed, and things are different between us." Completely transformed, once again reminding me of alchemy. (I sound like a nerd…)

"At one point, I would've given anything for that," Dave mutters under his breath, trying not to be heard. But even with the music, I catch the sentence as it leaves his mouth. I touch his forearm. He sends another smile, this one a bit… sad. "To be different. I used to think I hated you since you were so damn confident in your difference. I wanted to be like you, but at the same time, I really _didn't, _because it meant sacrificing all I've ever known. I would have lost everything. And wanting to give up _anything _for one thing is not at all like giving up _everything._"

I nod. I understand more than he realizes.

He swallows. "Kurt, I want this to work. I really do. But this isn't going to be easy. I'm going to get stubborn sometimes, and my temper might escalate, and with my parents divorcing and all, I could revert back to my bullying. Hopefully not directed at you, but still. I'm a jerk by nature. What I'm saying is… I can't make promises."

I nod again. "I know, Dave," I tell him, and I truly _do_ know. Somewhere in my brain, I've already come to this conclusion.

"Still, I… I really like you, Kurt. Going on a date with you makes me happier than you know. But being out like you are? That's harder. I don't know if I can do it."

I stare at him, my eyes getting teary by his confessions. It tugs at my heartstrings like a romantic tragedy film. I tighten my grip on his forearm – funny, I hadn't noticed that I'm still touching him – and assure him that I'm here for him. "You don't have to go through it alone, remember? And if we're somehow still together in a few more months, or another year, or through college, then I'll wait. I'll stick by your side and help you come out, if that's what you want. And even if we're not dating, I can still be your friend afterward and support you in that way, too." And I send him my best close-lipped smile, my hideous dimples and all.

He stops at a fresh red light and turns to touch my cheek. "Thanks, Kurt. You don't know what that means to me." And he chuckles, touching a corner of my mouth. "I love those dimples."

And I blink in shock, wondering if he somehow read my thoughts about how much I despise them, because that timing was perfect. A grin and an accompanying blush takes over my facial features. The light turns green, Dave turns back and lets off the brakes, and I'm suddenly happier than I ever have been.

I was wrong. While it's weird to think of our past, what matters are the pieces that lead up to this point and what's going on now. History and future events mean nothing.

_End Part XII: Transmuted._


	13. Whole

_Part XIII: Whole_

_.D A V E._

The date is unsettling. The waitress keeps sending us looks every time she stops by to get an order or refill a glass. She seems nice enough, but I don't know. I'm suspicious of everybody. Does she know me somehow? Will she rat me out? Is she homophobic?

One of the answers comes when she arrives with a slice of cheesecake – "On the house," she says sweetly, flashing us a striking smile. "I just thought you two are _so _undeniably cute together, like Beauty and the Beast." She sets the plate down between us, two forks on it. "Hope you like raspberry?"

And I stare at her, torn between being offended – she just referred to me as _the Beast_ – and quietly thanking her for being so… accepting. Fangirlish, even.

Kurt smiles brightly and grabs a fork. "I love raspberry cheesecake! How did you know~?" he says around a bite, making a hum of approval.

The waitress giggles, and I realize now that at each glance she gave us, her face had been tinted pink much like now, and she had looked away quickly not out of disgust, but joyful embarrassment. I finally decide that she's all right, and give her a thumbs-up. "Raspberry's cool. Thanks."

"You two enjoy," she says, and walks away with a knowing grin.

I shake my head and look at Kurt. "If this is going to happen on our next date, I might just end up taking you out of the state. This is humiliating."

"Humiliating? I find it quite flattering," he says covertly, sensually licking some cheesecake off of his fork. I advert my eyes, finding my plate less arousing. "She deserves a hefty tip. She got us free dessert because she actually condones gay relationships. She's earned major kudos."

I shake my head, but murmur that I'll be sure to give her more than I normally tip. She has been a good waitress aside from this anyway. This is just a bonus, I guess.

I fumble with the clean fork, debating on if I want to do something as intimate as share a dessert with the boy across from me. I've never even shared a meal or dessert with one of my family members, not even when we would go out to eat when I was a child. It felt weird. It feels weird even now.

"Aren't you going to have some?" Kurt says, half of the wedge of cheesecake gone already. He pushes the plate closer to me. "I can't finish this by myself, not after all those crab legs. Here," he says, smiling.

I sigh with a tint of reluctance as I dunk my fork into the thick cream cheese and raspberry filing. It smells sickeningly sweet, but as I take a bite, I find that the graham cracker crust is just bland enough to balance out the tartness of the raspberries and the sugary, cheesiness of the cake itself. All in all, it's really good.

I lick my lips, and I find that Kurt's eyes wander and follow the action. He mimics me seemingly unconsciously, his pink tongue flickering over his bottom lip. My own eyes trace the action, and at the same time, our gazes meet.

The cheesecake, left as a towering edge, is forgotten between us.

For a moment, I don't care that we're in public. I don't give a drop of shit that people could see around our booth sides. I don't. I just focus on the fleeting second, the second in which I lean across the table, find Kurt is meeting me halfway, and I close the chasm between our lips.

He tastes of dinner; salt, butter, cream cheese, raspberry, Sprite. But it's addicting because I can get lost in the feel of his lips, plump and silky to the touch, but firm enough underneath to be distinctly male.

As we part, he's looking at me with a gaze he previously only reserved for that prep school guy – Blaine, I think he name is – and before that, Hudson. I blink, my mouth falling open a crack, and he lifts his butt off his seat in order to kiss me again, and I can't believe it. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling, before I break the kiss and remind him, "We're at a restaurant, you know."

He does something very un-Kurt-like, and very me-like. "Fuck them," he whispers, and gives me a peck on the lips before returning to his place against the booth. He's smirking in that know-it-all way he usually does.

And honestly, I've never been more turned on in my life.

But before I can say anything, the scene is shattered by our waitress, who pops out of nowhere, a knowing smile on her face and a giggle being suppressed by a bite to her lower lip. "Check?" she asks, and her face is more than merely pink. I know instantly that she saw us. Stupid fag-hag… she had to ruin it, didn't she? But I'm kind of glad she did, since it probably hadn't been appropriate anyway. The older, most likely married couple across from Kurt and I shoots us a glare as proof of our impropriety.

"Yes, please," Kurt says politely. He glances at me. "Should we split it?"

I nod. "I don't have enough to pay for both of us. It's not easy to get money right now, because of… um, my parents," I add sheepishly.

The waitress looks sympathetic, even if she hasn't an idea what I'm talking about. "Two checks it is, then." And with another soft smile, she departs, getting the extra check.

I look at Kurt. "Sorry," I say, since dates are supposed to pay for both, not one.

He waves it aside. "I would feel wrong letting you pay for it all even if you did have the money," he says. "Usually the guy pays. But we're both guys, so how is that fair?" and he winks, laughing.

I laugh minutely with him. "Yeah, good point."

And as the waitress returns and we hand her the cash, we grab our coats and head out back to my truck.

"That was wonderful," Kurt tells me. He looks up and over at me, coming in close enough to grab my hand. He doesn't lace our fingers, but he's _holding my hand_, and that's enough. "I learned a lot about you tonight."

I nod. I learned a lot about him, too. And I had him pegged wrong on a lot of things, whereas others didn't surprise me. The same probably happened to him about me. Still, it was interesting and an experience I'd like to have again.

"You know…" Kurt hints as we approach my car, "I still haven't seen the new Harry Potter movie, and I've been _dying _to. Would you like to join me in seeing it next week?"

I grin smugly. "You like my company that much, huh?"

He nods. "Yep. So, would you?"

I stop in front of my car and face him, keeping our hands together as I use my free one to gently cup his face. "Of course. That's the only series of books I ever bothered to read, so I might as well see how they decide to butcher or favor the plot of the final book."

"Only the first half," he reminds me. "They actually wanted to keep the epic-ness of the seventh book, and split the book into two movies," he says, wriggling two fingers before touching his hand over the one I have on his face. He removes it and brushes his fingertips across my knuckles and up three of my fingers before sliding his digits in between mine. I'm left speechless, and he continues smiling gently, so little so that his dimples are barely there. "Now let's get in the car. It's getting cold out."

And this is the moment when I realize that I am undeniably in love with Kurt Hummel.

xXx

_.K U R T._

When I get back home and change into my pajamas, I'm left staring at nothing in particular with an absent-minded expression on my face. I know this because as soon as Finn comes down stairs to get ready for bed himself, he sends me a look.

"Uh, Kurt?"

"…Yeah…?" I murmur distantly.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asks, frowning. He steps a hair closer and peers into my face. "You look like you might either be sick or lost in thought."

"Neither," I reply at length, my eyes closing for a moment. "On the contrary… I feel fine, and there's just… no thoughts in my head."

None. Whatsoever. Hmm, maybe there is something wrong with me, because I know being thoughtless isn't normal for me.

Finn shrugs and backs away. "Whatever. By the way, you left your phone upstairs on the counter." And he tosses the device to me. "You got a text earlier; that little _blip_ sound went off."

I lazily pick up my phone and unlock it. Sure enough, there are two text messages waiting for me. The first is from Blaine. _'When are we going to hang out again?'_ he's asking. And the other…

…Is from Dave.

'_Goodnight.' _Is all it says.

And for some reason, I can't stop staring at it. It's more captivating than _'Courage,' _suddenly more important than hanging out. A goofy grin creeps up on me, and by the time I realize I'm smiling, I'm already drifting off to sleep.

In the passing moments of final consciousness, a swarm of last-minute thoughts whiz by:

It's weird, but for once… I feel whole. It's like having a polar opposite was all I needed all along.

I don't know. This could be the lingering bliss of a first date sticking with me, but it was an _amazing_ first date, and I want nothing more than to keep it up. It's ironic, but I actually see pieces of a future with Dave and I. Despite everything, I feel like we might have something. A weird connection of give-and-take, calm-and-explosion, love-and-hate that keeps us balanced on some sort of metaphorical scale.

And I did always have a thing for jocks. I'd be lying if I said Dave is any different.

It's funny, because I know I don't love him. Yet. And the funny part is that I feel that this is a "yet" circumstance. It's almost laughable, how much I enjoy being around him now, as opposed to how much I detested him before. In the past, I couldn't stand Dave Karofsky. He was cruel and abusive and teasing, but in retrospect, it was light compared to the hate Azimio gave off, and it was carefully calculated to keep others from realizing why Dave focused on _me_ and not much of anyone else.

And now all that's left is seeing where this relationship will lead…

I sigh contentedly in my daze, at last fully asleep.

_End Part XIII: Whole._


	14. Epilogue

**A/N: And here is the final chapter, in its short, mushy-romantic glory. Enjoy, and let's all pray that tonight's episode ISN'T what the supposed spoilers foretold, and is MERELY a wedding episode, because I don't want to get too terribly depressed about the pairing I love so much and already know won't happen! D:**

**Also: Thank you all SO VERY MUCH for sticking with this weird, not-planned story. I hope it entertained all of you, and I look forward to more reviews! You guys are the best. Seriously.**

**...One more thing... **

**If I were to write a random Dave/Kurt smut oneshot sometime in the future, would any of you read it? :0**

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_Part XIV: Epilogue_

They stroll down the busy New York sidewalk together, idly peeking at shops and food stops here and there.

One of them makes a witty remark, sending them both into a laughing fit.

The slightly shorter male – only shorter by an inch and a half, they measured – stops and faces his companion.

"I'm cold."

"I noticed."

"Can we get coffee?"

"Sure."

And they march into a Starbucks – it's impossible not to find one on every corner – and get some hot drinks.

"Are you almost done with your college courses?" the thicker of the two asks.

The slimmer one nods. "Yeah. I'll graduate this spring. I already have an offer from one of the Broadway theatres, though."

"Oh? Even though they know you're an undergraduate in the theatrical arts?"

He laughs. "Yeah. I guess they don't care. They figure I'm good enough that it doesn't matter that I'm not entirely out of college just yet." He sips his coffee, and peers over the rim of his foam cup at the other. "Dave," he murmurs softly, "Have you ever thought about us getting back together? We dated for just about four years."

"I know."

"It's been about two since."

"I know."

"I still love you."

And suddenly the roar of the other customers in the coffee shop is too loud to bear, and Dave sighs, running his hand through his hair.

"…I know," he whispers, "And I love you. But we both know that I'll only hold you back. You? You're destined for success, Kurt. You've always been talented, and always will be. Me? I'm useless. I have a brain, not much of one, but one nonetheless, and it's only good for being a teacher, which we both know sets up roots and pays little, and is probably going to be the most undesired job in the biz soon. Still, it's all I've got besides being a mechanic or something else blue-collar, whereas you go to school in the _fucking Big Apple,_ and I'm still stuck in Ohio."

Kurt is silent for a long moment, peering down into the dark liquidy abyss without taking a second glance at his friend.

"I know," he says after a while, his blue orbs locking onto Dave's brown ones. "But I could make it work, Dave. I could find you a job, or support you with my Broadway money if I make it big, and we could –"

Dave smiles sadly. "You've made it this far without me. I don't see why you bother. I'm nothing special, Kurt. You could be with someone so much better." And he hides a tear leaking out from his eyes with a sideways glance out the window and a fake run through his hair.

Kurt leans across the table and plucks Dave's hand in midair. "I don't want anybody else," he says in finality, his tone low and dead serious. His rare moments of forceful nature sends electric sparks down Dave's spine.

Dave clasps Kurt's hand. "If you're sure," he murmurs. "Because, honestly… I knew coming to visit you was a bad idea, since I knew the moment you transferred to New York I would either lose you or see you and never want to leave again." And he chuckles a little, but without humor. "That's why I broke up with you. I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just being a coward again, trying to save myself from heartbreak. But it didn't work for either of us, did it?"

And the athlete is truly crying now, but Kurt simply wipes his tears away and gets out of his chair to give Dave a kiss on the temple… then his cheek… then his lips.

Dave moans quietly, because _oh_, did he miss the feel of those lips on his. And he's thankful that New York is such a liberal place, because even in this cramped Starbucks he feels no piercing eyes, no holes being burned into him for kissing another man. Everybody pays no attention to the scene; they get their coffee, they chat among themselves, and they treat the couple's interaction like they do any couple's: as if it were perfectly normal.

When Kurt pulls away, he's smirking deviously. "You do realize that I can't let you go again, don't you? That you're pretty much stuck with me."

"At least until you're bored with me," Dave retorts with a roll of his eyes.

Kurt laughs. "Yeah, something like that."

As they leave the coffee shop, their hands intertwine and even though Dave's father died of alcohol poisoning a few years after the divorce, and even though Dave himself is in debt and worried about his grandmother's recent illness, he can't find it in himself to be unhappy in this instant.

Because he knows that, despite hardships and past events, he'll always have Kurt.

And Kurt knows that he can rely just as heavily on the male beside him, since Dave is tough, a sturdy rock of sorts. Someone Kurt can run to when he needs to, someone to protect him. And in return, Kurt offers his love and comfort for when the rock cracks, and cement for when it gets broken.

_End Part VIX: Epilogue._

_Basic Alchemy: Complete._


End file.
